


A Farce at Playing Dead

by cookietosser, literarytonguetied



Series: A Farce at Falling in Love [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gratuitous P3 references, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Game, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Smoking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-09-01 06:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 38,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16759531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookietosser/pseuds/cookietosser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/literarytonguetied/pseuds/literarytonguetied
Summary: Akechi Goro had been content to be a kept a secret, to live his life in relative anonymity under an assumed name to separate himself from the events involving the Phantom Thieves. That is, until one Sakamoto Ryuji refuses to let the past lie.





	1. April

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shout out to Tessa to get this baby off the ground. This started as a fun idea that we had kicked around when she started A Farce at Playing House, and blew up into a full blown collaboration. I'd like to present the Goro POV to an already amazing story, I hope y'all enjoy!

Goro is one for keeping secrets.

He is well accustomed to twisting his words until they are honeyed, silvered, beautiful things that keep him in good graces. Sometimes his secrets are small. White lies wrapped in politics to appease the fragile ego of detectives and police officers in the precinct, irate that a _child_ was able to do their jobs with more aptitude.

Sometimes the secrets were large. Lies spread, pervasive, in the homes of hundreds of thousands of people. Akechi Goro, Detective Prince, a prodigy in his own right. Deception that he layered on himself until any remnant of something before ‘Goro’ disappeared from both memory and record. He wrapped it around himself like a blanket, covetous of the security it provided even as it looped around his neck.

He’s never told anyone how he escaped Shido’s palace.

Not that he had anyone to tell, not that anyone wanted his survival in the first place. Two shots, both to the head, a double tap done with accuracy given only by experience. The shadow didn’t have a chance to pull the trigger. How fitting that even with all of his posturing, his lies, his attempts to make himself needed, the shadow of himself is only the sum of his presumed incompetence.

The engine room would have been his grave had the explosion not rocketed him out. His retribution would have been ridding the world of himself had he not seen the shock of blond hair dip below the surface of a tumultuous cognitive ocean.

He feels the power of Berserker rush through him, filling his veins with heat, making the edges of his vision go red. Loki’s laughter echoes between his ears but Robin Hood’s gentle presence is what pushes him forward. He pulls Sakamoto from the sea, from the palace, from the metaverse to collapse coughing and sputtering on the dew-damp grass in front of the Diet Building.

Power rushes out of Goro all at once and exhaustion weighs heavy at his limbs. He kneels in front of Sakamoto, watching him cough up non-existent water, his lungs tricking him into believing he was still drowning. Goro watches him gather his bearings, breath deep, when the reality of what he’s done crashes into him all at once.

“I’m good,” Sakamoto says as he lifts himself to sit, catching Goro’s eyes and mistaking his severity for concern.

“Do. Not. Say. Anything.” Goro tells him, horror and anger pushing force into his words, making his jaw ache with how he grits his teeth around the command.

He can see Sakamoto’s immediate incredulity, “What? I was just gonna-”

“Not a word,” he cuts him off, feeling his heart thunder in his chest. “You tell no one.” He can hear the other Phantom Thieves in the distance, wailing piercing through the dark night. He watches as Sakamoto moves towards them and grabs him tight by his bicep, pulling him back down. “Swear it!”

“Shit, fine! Fine! I won’t say anything.” Sakamoto shakes his hand off and stands. Goro nods at him, watching him warily, searching for insincerity as he stands. Sakamoto looks at him, “What the hell are you gonna do?” He asks.

Goro shakes his head, jerky for his tense shoulders. He doesn’t have answers, didn’t have the thought that he would make it this far, that he would need a Plan B for his survival when he had not thought his survival would be an issue. Answers dry up on his tongue, honey solidified, silver oxidized. Goro takes a step away from Sakamoto, away from the clamor of the Phantom Thieves. Away from the Diet Building and personage he had created for himself.

Goro does not look back even as he hears Sakamoto run off, footfalls almost eclipsed by the wailing of those who miss him. The night that embraces him is dark and silent.

* * *

It’s been lifetimes since that night. Years of finding places to work that won’t recognize his face, regardless of how quickly media fame fades. Years of finding housing that will accept a name without record.

Himura Koji. Intimately familiar but still distant as a stranger. The records of his birth had been destroyed when his mother died, when he assumed Akechi Goro so that he could not be traced even under Shido’s watchful eye.

His hand was still unsteady, despite the years separating him from the grandeur, writing the kanji to sign the contract of employment at a small diner even as an auntie cooed about how sweet his name was. That unsteadiness was more pronounced when that same auntie found him sleeping slouched along a curb a few blocks away and pushed him towards an apartment complex that accepted his residency purely by her commendation.

The kindness chafed at him, uncommon, unbidden. Years as Himura Koji trying to find some place he could stay at for more than a few months, a job that could pay for housing, housing that would remain consistent- lifetimes of street corners but refusing to panhandle, keeping his head down, his face hidden, his name locked away.

She smiled at him and gave him a hot meal on his first day. She laughed when he dropped an entire tray of water and playfully tossed him a washrag to clean up. She clucked at him, ever endearing, when he moved too slow and bumped him with her hip to get him going quickly. Her towel was a whip crack but never was a threat. Her smile was genuine and pushed at wrinkles that bloomed from the corner of her eyes.

It had been a week, but after years of struggle as Goro, as Koji, she made it easy to work hard. He would take what he could while he could, employment, a roof, unsure of when it would be swiped from him by his own hubris like everything else he had held close. When his confidence would turn to arrogance and he would lose what small respite he had cultivated by luck. It’s still easy to smile sweetly and to bow low, to cock his head to the side just enough to be charming.

Maybe it’s because he’s lost some of his charm from the dimmed spotlight, but he finds that he does not need to hide as much of his true feelings and finds that he does not care if people are aware of his discontent. They would throw him on the street regardless of how bright his smiles were or how cloyingly sweet his words. What had made him coveted does not matter anymore and it is too exhaustive to keep up appearances that only helped because he would boost television ratings.

Maybe it’s because Auntie just laughs at him when he loses some of that charm in the face of a rude customer that Goro feels like a thick fog lifting, like he can breathe just a little bit easier.

It’s been a week and he’s settling in. Auntie looks after him and scolds him if he calls her ma’am; his coworkers help him along, give him pointers to deal with complicated orders and ornery regulars. They joke as he’s given his first night shift and tell him to watch out for sleepy college kids that are wont to fall face first into their food and their notes alike.

They laugh even as his breath is pulled from his lungs like a punch. There is a guillotine blade hanging high over his head as he sees a familiar shock of blond hair. He’s not drowning now, though he keeps his head low over his books and computer. Goro had always hated what Shido thought about loose ends but in this moment he can concede to the caution.

It’s been years since the first and only time he’s saved a life, a week since he found some tenuous comfort under Auntie’s watchful eye. Frustration sits heavy, roiling into anger that he would lose something so soon because of something he had actually done right.

“Himura-san,” Maya delicately touches his shoulder to get his attention, holding out the laminated paper with table assignments, “You’re in section four today.” She gives him a small smile, eyebrows upturned with something like earnest worry, “But don’t worry, it’s small, so you’re lucky!”

Goro smiles at her, feeling cold, “You’re a little young to be so superstitious, aren’t you Maya-chan?” He chuckles into his hand to hide the shake. “I appreciate you being so generous to a newcomer like me. I’ll make sure to do a good job, so please continue to take care of me.”

His table is in that grouping under Goro’s responsibility. Sakamoto Ryuji, too wrapped up in his studies to have seen Goro yet. It’s been years, he thinks, years and lifetimes ago, and he never mattered much to that particular Phantom Thief anyway. Maybe he could get away with introducing himself as Himura Koji and be done with it, he wouldn’t need to leave, wouldn’t need to upend all of the kindness he’s been shown in a rare oversight of karmic justice.

“What the eff?!” The smile on Goro’s face feels plastic but it holds despite Sakamoto’s loud exclamation. Other patrons turn to look at the commotion, grumbling angrily at the college kid making too much noise for so quiet a diner. He watches Sakamoto’s face heat and Goro adjusts the grip on his order pad. “What the hell are you doing here?” Sakamoto asks, angry.

Himura Koji is a doppelganger, a shadow, a long joke with an unsatisfying punchline, and he was recognized immediately by the one person he thought might be able to overlook him. He saved his life, but Sakamoto Ryuji was far from owing him a debt.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he takes a step back. Nonthreatening. Not who you think. Confusion carefully crafted pinches his eyebrows but he can’t ignore his wild heartbeat or how tightly he grips pad and pencil. “I’m here to take your order, sir.” Anger sits just beneath his skin, hot and violent. He’s so tired, he doesn’t need to be berated by Sakamoto of all people.

Goro watches Sakamoto look him over, his eyes hesitating on things Goro knows have changed since they last saw each other. It takes conscious effort not to let his enmity show on his face. Such strong hostility has been rare recently and to feel it again, so strongly, aching like venom in his veins, has him clenching his teeth around polite serving inquiry.

Sakamoto stalls on his name tag. Himura Koji. No other way to read the kanji, even for the more simple of the Phantom Thieves, if memory serves. He sees Sakamoto look over his shoulder and then the confrontation seems to drop from his shoulders. “Sorry,” he tells Goro, “My bad. I thought you were someone else.”

“I’ve been told I have one of those faces,” he clips. His smile folds into an arc more genuine, happy to be rid of the suspicion of someone so easy to fool. The anger softens in his fingertips and his ability to work and live here is made more permanent. “Can I assume you’re one of the regulars? I just started working here last week, so please be kind to me if I make mistakes.”

Sakamoto’s order is easy, a diner staple. Goro’s notes are sloppy with remnant tremors and he walks away briskly, eager to be free of Sakamoto’s prying gaze. His smile can’t fully drop even as he turns away. There are too many other eyes, too many other curious patrons too polite to ask about the initial loud altercation but still watching regardless.

He tries to avoid the table as best he can while he waits for the food to be cooked. He fills Sakamoto’s water when it gets low and Sakamoto does not ask for a refill of whatever specialized drink had been brought to him before Goro started his shift. He doesn’t ask Sakamoto if he would like one, either. Goro can still feel his eyes on him every time he passes by, every time someone is seated at a nearby table. He’s walking on a tightrope and Sakamoto is waiting for him to fall. To reveal his identity, to confirm every suspicion that Sakamoto has so that he can-

So he can what? Go back to the Phantom Thieves and inform them of Goro’s survival? If he has not done so already. Goro had asked him so long ago to keep a secret but he doubts sincerely that the request was honored. If anything, they had just been waiting for him to pop back up on Medjed’s radar to bring him to their own kind of justice.

Goro takes his food to the table and uses it as an excuse to stop by even less. Sakamoto does not flag him down which makes it easier. Goro still catches him staring even as Sakamoto pretends that he wasn’t. He is quick to avert his eyes, to act like he was focusing on a particularly dense section of his notes, to shovel rice into his mouth like it’s the first and last thing he’ll ever eat.

Goro’s first break does not come quickly enough and he rifles through his belongings in the small employee area. He fishes out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and slips outside behind the building. He breathes deep, inhaling cool night air before lighting a cigarette. The drag pulls the tension from his shoulders as hot smoke licks down his throat.

Exhale- it disappears into the night sky along with the thin wisp that stretches from the red cherry between his fingers. He leans against the building, contemplates sitting at a step but decides not to dirty his clothes.

Sakamoto had not been fully convinced of his identity, that much was obvious. He had accepted it easily enough but his constant eyes on Goro meant that he was still skeptical of Himura. He would have to leave. Sakamoto was obviously a student in the area, a regular long before Goro became an employee. Even if he had kept the secret, Goro would not force his presence on to someone that, in all likelihood, hated him.

It would be harder to escape this time around. Auntie was invested in him, had secured him a home and a job, fed him and tended to his well-being however distantly. He doesn’t have much choice, though, he thinks as he takes another drag. Smoke curls around him and he closes his eyes against a blank sky.

He finishes his cigarette and puts it out with the heel of his shoe. There are ashtrays inside but in a brief moment of contrariety, he tosses the butt to the ground and turns to head inside.

Auntie passes him on his way to the restroom to wash the smell of smoke off his hands and gives him a kind smile. She opens her mouth to say something but seems to think better of it halfway through, closing it and instead placing a firm and gentle hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t litter, especially if you’re not old enough to smoke anyway.”

It was not what he was expecting her to say and a small laugh bubbles out of him before he can help it. “How did you know I was even smoking?”

“It’s an old woman’s wisdom,” she winks at him, “not too old, mind you.”

“Of course, Auntie.” He ducks his head in a small bow and slips away, trying not to let his smile harden.

The water from the faucet in the restroom is cool against his hands, the soap delicately scented to chase away cigarette smoke clinging to his fingertips. Goro looks at himself in the mirror, sallow from the harsh overhead lights and lowers himself to rinse ash taste out of his mouth as well.

He braces himself heavily against the sink and breathes deep. Sakamoto is still undoubtedly sitting there in the small arrangement of section four, all number of unlikelihoods stacked against him. Goro just has to play the part for a little bit longer, for the rest of the night and the handful of days it will take to find a new job and a new place to stay. And then Sakamoto won’t have to worry about him and Goro won’t have to worry about the Phantom Thieves’ particular brand of justice.

When he steps out, he can see Sakamoto bowed over his books, giving his studies his rapt attention. He does not look up when Goro walks by and resumes his duties, nor does his gaze stray as Goro handles other patrons. The suspicious looks have ceased for now, even when Goro refills his drink and slyly removes empty plateware from the table.

The lack of attention concerns Goro, despite it being what he wanted. If Sakamoto had informed the Phantom Thieves, wouldn’t the reaction be to watch him closer? To make sure he doesn’t get away? To make sure he doesn’t try to poison Sakamoto’s food or slip something into his drink or something just as equally nefarious as they must expect of him?

Goro bites at his chapped lips. “Auntie,” he asks after making his rounds, finding her surveying the floor to ensure all customers are taking care of.

She hums in his direction.

“The table with that regular, the blond college student,” he hesitates and she looks at him from the corner of her eye, “I’m afraid I did not provide the best service. Would I be able to cover his bill with my meal for tonight?” Goro doesn’t quite look in her direction, eyes politely averted. He is very careful to not look directly at Sakamoto.

“Did you spill a drink on him?” Auntie’s gaze is piercing.

“Ah- no, nothing like that,” he purses his lips, “I feel my inexperience has led me to not be as attentive as I should have been, and-”

“He is a regular, and he’s certainly loud, but I’ve never seen him have an outburst like he did when you first walked up. Is this related, perhaps?” She’s smiling but her gaze is still sharp, equal parts teasing him and searching.

Goro is floundering. He had not expected this amount of pushback from her for giving up his own meal. He had thought that by offering a meal that was already free, she would be more inclined to agree in the interest of the diner’s profits. “Yes,” he answers carefully, “he had mistaken me for someone else and my reaction may not have been the most ideal.”

Auntie hums again. “It’s your meal to do with as you wish, but don’t make a habit out of it. I like making sure you’ve eaten at least one meal.” She bumps him with her hip and he swallows around her words. He bows his head and resumes filling half-full water cups, unable and unwilling to name the feeling pooling warm in his chest.

By the time Sakamoto waves him over to resolve his check, Goro has already settled the amount owed and cleared the check from the system. Presenting this information to Sakamoto provides its own challenge, however, because for all intents and purposes, there was no reason for Himura Koji to provide a free meal to a customer he had little interaction with.

He smiles at Sakamoto when he is summoned, but it feels crooked as he watches him take out his wallet. “Your bill has been taken care of.”

Sakamoto keeps his wallet in hand and makes no move to put it away, “Huh? Why?”

Goro clenches his jaw for a moment before releasing the tension. Why? Because there’s nothing Goro can do to make up for everything he’s done or thank Sakamoto for keeping the secret for this many years when he did not need to. Because Sakamoto had watched him most of the night with suspicion but no hostility. Because he had kept a promise when he received no benefit from it when it was only upheld by the desperation with which Goro had gripped his arm in front of an empty Diet Building.

He clears his throat, “I know the other workers are much more adequate than I am, so,” Goro pauses, “consider it an apology.” There’s more weight in his words than there should be, and he knows it only makes him look guilty. He can see the shift in Sakamoto.

“Are you sure we don’t know each other?” Sakamoto is not subtle.

“I’m afraid not.” Goro steps away and bows low, “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

The dumbstruck look on Sakamoto’s face as Goro walks away is almost satisfying.

Sakamoto is still sitting at the table when Goro leaves at the end of his shift. Auntie orders him to get home safely as he hangs up his apron and retrieves his backpack. He nods and waves goodbye to his coworkers as he leaves the diner. The night is dark save for the sparse cones of light from street lamps overhead; it’s almost peaceful leaving the diner so late at night. He had only had morning and afternoon shifts during his initial training, so going and leaving was always met with busy streets. To have it so quiet now, with only the sound of his own footfalls and the silence of the night, is kind of nice.

It doesn’t last, unsurprisingly. He knows he’s being followed when he gets about a block away from the diner. There’s only one person that would try and it takes everything in Goro not to spin around and catch him in the act. It’s entirely likely that Sakamoto lives in the same direction as him, Goro reasons with himself. Regardless, if he were to act aggressively over something potentially innocuous would only hurt his attempts at convincing Sakamoto that he is Himura Koji and no one else.

It’s a twisting path through backstreets to get to his building. He walks briskly through the night, not allowing himself to admit that there is a tiny spark of fear sitting at the base of his spine. Goro has already decided to leave this place and this home and this job, if Sakamoto were not appeased by Goro’s leaving, there is a high chance that he might involve the other Phantom Thieves or even the authorities as penance for his crimes. It would not be outside Sakamoto’s right, for all that Goro did, and any life debt Sakamoto might owe is nullified with all the blood Goro already has on his hands.

He arrives at his apartment without any solid plan in place. He stops in front of the doors holding desperately on to a new old name. Goro hears the footsteps stop in time with his, and then a secondary shuffle of shrubbery. He turns around to look at the bushes lining a building, still moving with Sakamoto’s attempt to hide.

Goro watches as Sakamoto peeks his head out and shrieks when their eyes meet. Sakamoto has always been the loud one and it seems some things do not change.

“So you were following me,” the ice in Goro’s veins leaks into his words. “Come on out, let’s chat.”

Sakamoto looks defeated pulling himself from the bushes and walking towards Goro, head hung low and slouching for all he can. “I just wanna put it out there that I didn’t mean to sneak.” Goro holds back a scoff, “You walk with a purpose, I couldn't catch up to confront you in time.”

“And then you hid when I stopped.” Goro’s eyes narrow.

Sakamoto throws his hands up in surrender, “I went about this poorly, I’m sorry.”

Goro can hear his heart in his ears. Sakamoto still is not acting in the ornery fashion Goro had become accustomed to during their brief bout as teammates. Inquisition is not overshadowed by by the normal viperous twist that Sakamoto’s face would take when he had first approached the Thieves, though he is still as headstrong.

“Why do you want to confront me, anyhow? Why are you so insistent that I’m someone else?” Because Akechi Goro is dead and he would like to stay that way.

“Come on, man,” Sakamoto says, “I know it’s you. I’m sorry I reacted so loudly back there but now we’re alone. I’m not here to hurt you or anything.”

Goro crosses his arms with a huff. He grips his own biceps tightly, drawing his shoulders up unconsciously. There’s no reason to maintain a weak charade and Sakamoto has made it clear he’s not going to take anything but the truth. Goro does not fully believe his words, has no reason to; hurt doesn’t have to be physical. “You couldn’t just take the apology and let it lie?” He says after a moment.

“I honestly probably would have given up if you _hadn’t_ done that.” Sakamoto’s face pinches, “And that’s a really shitty apology, by the way.”

A flash of anger snaps down Goro’s spine. Of course Sakamoto would insinuate that a free meal would be enough reparation for everything that Goro did when he was still Goro, of course he would completely miss the point. Goro smirks as something cruel sits in his throat. “I didn’t do anything to _you._ In fact, if I recall, I saved your life.”

Sakamoto looks at him nonplussed, unanswering, and the cruelty sitting on the tip of his tongue dissipates. He can’t hold on to the anger long enough to do anything with it. He had made a split second decision in a moment of weak kindness and every time it comes back to haunt him. “That was for intruding on your life once more. The intent was to never make my presence known to any of you ever again.” The free meal had been small, all he could give because beyond that job he had nothing. He had never attempted to apologize for anything else because some things were too big for forgiveness, “So, I apologize, and it might take me a few days, but I will be finding a new job soon.” He could uphold his end of an unsaid bargain.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on man! Don’t- you don’t have to go that far, alright? That’s like, really drastic.” Sakamoto looks as surprised as Goro feels and Goro works to keep it off his face.

“You’re a regular there, are you not? It won’t do to have us running into each other so often.” Goro doesn’t know why he has to explain this, why Sakamoto is resisting so much. He knows he’s not wanted around, he doesn’t understand why Sakamoto won’t just let him go.

“Will you quit pretending to be all cool about this?” Sakamoto snaps and Goro tenses. “I was surprised to see you after you just _left_ suddenly that night, but it’s not like I want you to piss off or anything! I didn’t come here to tell you to ‘leave town or else.’ I just…” He pauses and Goro runs the same thought around in his head, _Why did Sakamoto follow him all the way here?_

“I was surprised, okay?” The heel face turn of Sakamoto’s tone gives Goro whiplash. Frustration and anger had given way to something sheepish. Soft. “And I’m sorry for making a scene. But I’m not upset to see you or anything, so don’t- don’t quit your job.” He chuckles nervously and Goro doesn’t know how to feel. “It’s not like I can’t go to another diner or anything you know, so. If you’re not comfortable seeing me, it’s chill, but it’s easier for me to take my loitering elsewhere than finding another job.”

Before he can think of the implication of his words, Goro says, “I don’t understand. You should hate me.”

“Well,” there is a lot left unsaid in Sakamoto’s pause, but Goro can’t parse it, “I don’t. Like you said, you didn’t do anything to me, but, like, you hurt my friends. And did a lot of shitty things. But we still mourned for you. After Shido’s palace. We changed his heart for Ren, but also for you. You were a victim, the same as us.”

Goro feels like he’s been slapped. Like the air has been pushed out of his lungs, like he’s drowning. Sakamoto steps towards him and he steps back. “I’m not the same as you. It doesn’t _comfort_ me hearing these things from you.” A whip-crack thought, “Did you tell them?”

“No.” Goro searches Sakamoto’s face for a lie but he answered too quickly for it to be anything but the truth. “I wanted to. I’m not lying, we really did mourn for you. And it was comforting to know that you were out there, somewhere, still breathing. It kind of killed me not to share that with them. But I didn’t, because you asked me to.”

“More like demanded it.” Sakamoto’s words make the interaction feel gentle, disparate, less frantic than it was, but despite the quip, Goro still feels like he can’t quite catch his breath. Sakamoto claims he found comfort in his survival, in _his_ survival. Bleeding heart aside it doesn’t make enough sense to Goro, when he was only ever a threat and a betrayer to the Phantom Thieves.

Sakamoto chuckles, “Yeah, you did.” He claps his hands suddenly enough to startle Goro, “So you have no reason to quit your job, and no reason to apologize.” Goro can’t get his words together fast enough in the brief pause to negate the lack of need for apology. “Now I owe you one. Or, two, if you count saving my life.”

“That’s really not necessary,” for a lot of reasons.

“If I’m overstepping my bounds, tell me, but I’d like to have a proper conversation with you. To catch up,” Goro can see the beginnings of a stubborn pout.

His mind is reeling but his shoulders drop. This was not how he had anticipated a conversation of this nature to go. He had not anticipated to be mourned for, to be fought for, to be included in a final decisive battle over a false god that had his thumb on the pulse of Tokyo and his boot over Goro’s throat. He had thought with some level of certainty that Sakamoto would have immediately reported of Goro’s survival, that the Phantom Thieves would have wanted to keep him close.

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you.” Goro says, “Maybe I just want to forget that part of my life and move on.” He refrains from wrapping his arms around himself, instead putting a hand on his hip in false bravado. There’s a superiority he searches for, of being able to let go of everything that tethers him to the Phantom Thieves while it is obvious Sakamoto cannot. However superficial that feeling may be, it’s the only familiar comfort he has. Goro has always been able to adapt, whether it was by choice or not, and the insistency Sakamoto pushes at him is enough for Goro to be contrary to Sakamoto’s requests. He’s adapted, he’s moved on. He does not want to confront the past when it only serves to be a mirror he does not want to face.

“Live as Himura Koji?” Goro nods, surprised that Sakamoto came to that conclusion and angry that he has to fight for it. Sakamoto sighs, “Sure, but I still gotta repay the favor. Let me buy you food sometime. From somewhere besides the diner, you probably eat there all the time.”

The offer is odd, but it would give Goro enough time to find a new job without raising the suspicion of Sakamoto. He would take the meal, give Sakamoto whatever closure he wants, and then disappear like he was supposed to. “Can’t turn down free food. One meal. And I reserve the right to remain silent if you ask certain questions.”

Sakamoto rolls his eyes, “Alright, officer. Can I reserve the right to not answer questions you might ask me?”

“What do you possibly have to hide?” An interesting question if he didn’t know for a fact that Sakamoto was the most open book out of all the Phantom Thieves, even going so far as to shout about his association with the criminal group in public.

“Oh, I’ve got stuff. I’ve got lots of… secret stuff.”

Goro is not impressed, “Whatever. You know where to find me.” The thought is troublesome. Sakamoto could still, at any moment, tell the Phantom Thieves that not only did he survive, but that Sakamoto knows where he is currently staying as well. “I’m going to bed.” He turns away burt Sakamoto’s eyes are still heavy on him.

“Wait, you live here?” It’s better than the street corner or the shack that barely had a roof, but Sakamoto need never know about how Goro lived before now.

“It’s more glamorous on the inside, I assure you.” Goro tosses the joke over his shoulder. “Thank you for walking me home, I felt _very safe_.”

He hears Sakamoto step away, and the scene is so familiar that Goro has to shake the memories away.

“See ya later.” Sakamoto says.

“Right.” An unfortunate development. But it’s only the one time. The one meal. The one unnecessary repayment that Sakamoto seems intent on doing despite Goro carrying the debt of years of mistakes.

He enters the apartment building with a sigh. It’s slightly warmer inside than the chill of the night air but it doesn’t calm the tremors that pick at the tips of his fingers. He could almost go for another cigarette as he climbs four storeys up, lamenting the out-of-service elevator. Auntie had joked with him, told him that by next month it would all be fixed up. At least, that’s what they had said four months ago. And two months before that.

Goro’s thighs begin to ache by the time he gets to his floor and turned down the hallway to his apartment. The key slides in the lock and the fall of tumblrs sounds loud in the silence of the hallway. His apartment was not much to look at and what little furnishings he had were provided by the landlord at the request of Auntie. He had thought it would have been enough. He thought that this could last him a little longer than anything else he had encountered.

Cold seizes his chest. Sakamoto had ruined everything. He had probably gone back to whatever he called home and told the Phantom Thieves exactly what had happened and exactly where to find him. He had maybe a few days before they were all able to convene in Iwatodai, a few days to pack up his meager possessions and find a new place to stay and a new job to keep steady.

He wouldn’t be able to tell Auntie. Sakamoto was a regular, so it was a liability if she knew, if Sakamoto asked her where Goro had gone. He stands just inside the entryway, door shut and solid behind him, and feels his heart hammer against his sternum. Rage presses at his temples and he thinks of the regret of not tying up a loose end. It would have been so easy to let him drown. It would have been so easy to forget about one more name to a heavy ledger.

Goro pinches the bridge of his nose. Breathes deep. The anger keeps his jaw clenched but as he takes another deep breath, he’s no longer immobilized by it. He drops his backpack off at the door and toes off his shoes. He’s so tired. Tomorrow is his first day off since starting at the diner and he’ll have to use it to go apartment shopping.

The bedsprings protest when he collapses onto his mattress. Goro scrubs at his face, willing the rancorous frustration to abate. He should have assumed that something so good would not last, that’s not how any of his life has worked and there is no reason for it to start now. He drapes his arm over his eyes. He should be used to this.

* * *

The next day proves discouraging. And the day after that. And the day after that. A week’s worth of Goro going to the diner to work and searching for alternatives to his current arrangement.

Auntie caught on very quickly. By the second day she was giving him looks of stern concern when she gave him his employee meal, clucks followed by a passive aggressive bemoaning of people not asking for help when they need it. Goro steadfastly ignored her eyes on him and merely smiled in return, agreeing that it was unfortunate people couldn’t reach out to those willing to help. He had a list of apartments to view after his shift was over and he kept that in the forefront of his mind even as she shook her head at him.

The third day had Goro’s fifth immediate apartment rejection since he did not have enough work history to prove income, and his backpack was filled with brochures proclaiming how wonderful it was to live in whatever box they were trying to sell. They were crammed next to a list of available jobs that were farther out of the city so he’d be less likely to run into ghosts. It’s harder to visit them, harder to interview and show his interest, harder to get hired because of how far he had to travel. He can’t stay in Iwatodai, can’t stay near Tokyo, so he travels to further and further cities with fare and travel time rising.

On his break that day, Auntie confronts him with one such brochure in her hand. He is just stubbing out his cigarette butt, exhaling the last drag of smoke and thinking about what it means that he has not seen Sakamoto at all, when she comes out of the back door to the diner with a bang. She brandishes the brochure like a weapon but the look on her face belies her worry.

“Is something wrong?” She asks him.

Goro had not expected that question. He had expected a lot of accusation, a lot of anger since she has gone through so much to secure his place here. But she stands in front of him with her grip soft on the glossy paper and asks about his well being. There had been a lot of answers on his tongue, mostly excuses that feel more like lies the longer the question sits on his shoulders. But he did not have an answer to that.

“Himura-kun?” Auntie takes a step towards him and Goro bumps against the wall of the diner trying to take a step back. She’s not trying to crowd him, there’s no intimidation in her movements. Goro still wishes for more space.

“Nothing is wrong, Auntie.” Goro wracks his brain for an explanation, why nothing would be wrong but he’s obviously searching for a way out.

She waits patiently for him to continue and it is evident that she expects him to. Unease is etched into the lines of her face and it’s a more effective weapon than anything else that’s been used against him.

He has nothing to say. Lies dry up in his mouth and he swallows them down. His eyes are drawn to the brochure in her hands for an apartment that he’s already gotten a rejection from. He did not have enough financial documentation, not enough personal documentation, they may be cheap housing but they still need confirmation that Goro is who he says he is which is ironic, considering. He can’t tell her that he doesn’t want to rely on her kindness, that he has nightmares he didn’t bury deep enough, that a single boy in a small diner in a minor city 20 minutes outside Tokyo had come and upended his life again.

So he says nothing, even as the moments stretch into minutes and Goro needs to return to his post refilling waters and smiling kindly at ornery old customers.

“If you need help, let me know.” She says finally when Goro makes no additional move to answer her question. She offers the brochure to him, trying to search his eyes. The upturn of her eyebrows force deep grooves into her forehead, like she’s accustomed to worrying over others. It does not detract from the weight of her words, though, and Goro takes the brochure from her.

The lack of his own words surprises him; he’s more out of practice than he thought.

Goro nods, “Of course, Auntie,” and steps past her to go back into the diner. The back door shuts with a heavy click.

At the end of his shift, he throws away all of the places he’s received rejections from. There is a single brochure left for an apartment in Saitama an hour away by train but he still has the nagging worry that it won’t be far enough.

The rest of the week does not fare better. The diner demands his time and he can’t sacrifice it for travel. He tries going farther and farther out but between the restrictions of when the train runs and his own shifts pressing hours onto his back in exchange for yen in his hands, he finds little else. The number of brochures he takes home dwindles to near nothing by the fifth day of his search and his train rides are heading into hour long crusades.

He spends his work breaks smoking to give himself some sort of distraction. Sakamoto is heavy on his mind. He still has not visited the diner, but Goro has also not heard or seen anything about the other Phantom Thieves. He wonders if Sakamoto actually found another place to do his studying, that when he told Goro he didn’t want anything from him but a meal and a conversation, he had been genuine.

Goro ashes his cigarette with too much force and almost flicks the cherry off. A deep drag in place of a deep breath, letting the burn of smoke curl in his lungs before seeping out of his mouth. The taste clings to his teeth and he runs his tongue along the back of them in thought.

The backdoor of the diner opens carefully and Goro does not have to turn his head to know it’s Auntie. She’s the only other employee of the diner that takes her breaks out back.

“Himura-kun,” she says kindly in greeting.

Goro nods his head in a bow, “Auntie.”

She smiles, “Did you find a solution?”

Goro’s frustration has been obvious as the days flip over into a week. He does his job well enough, listens to direction, does not let distraction make a mess of his work. Auntie has still had her eye on him, offering gentle support when he clocks in and out, wishing him a restful break as he slips out the back with a cigarette already in his mouth.

Goro consciously unclenches his fist, “Not quite, but I believe I will be able to resolve the issue well enough.” Saitama is still the only place that will take him, but there are no jobs in the area that will accept him after just a week and a half at this diner and a handful of odd jobs prior to that.

Auntie hums, “I figured you would, you’re the resourceful type.” The look on her face is soft and Goro focuses on taking another drag. “You know, I think it would do you well to talk to that regular, Sakamoto-kun.”

Goro chokes on the smoke.

Auntie knocks him on the back as he coughs, laughing, “If you can’t handle a cigarette Himura-kun, it might be a good idea to wait until you’re of age.” She teases as Goro wipes away tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

“I- Auntie- he-” Goro stumbles over his words, trying to collect himself and determine how much he should reveal, “The loud one, right?” The play at ignorance rings false even to his own ears and he coughs more of the stinging out of his throat

She lets the bad lie slide, “Yes, though he was much louder when you served him. Usually he’s pretty well mannered, even if his hair color leaves much to be desired.” Auntie giggles behind her hand, “but I think it would do you well. You two boys are very similar, you might benefit from talking to another runner.”

“Auntie, I wasn’t-” the words crash into each other in an apologetic pile that Auntie will not let him say. Regardless of whatever significance running has, Goro owes too much to this one kind woman to have her think that he was running away from her.

She tuts at him and his jaw clicks shut, “I won’t nag you, but I do think it’s a good idea. Besides, you two are of a similar age, it might be nice for you to have friends outside this one old Auntie and Maya-chan.”

“You’re not old,” he says on reflex and Auntie beams at him. There are a lot of reasons he should not talk to Sakamoto, most of them being that either of them should be dead. Sakamoto was the one that pushed for an additional conversation, but the Phantom Thieves could be at Goro’s throat in an instant. There are never guarantees to kindness freely given.

That thought is what pushes at Goro, forces him to search farther and farther away. It spins in his head every moment he doesn’t distract himself with something else. It presses behind his eyes like a migraine and makes him hold his fists tight enough for his fingernails to leave crescent moon indents in his palms. He agreed to a single meal and a single conversation and Sakamoto has yet to show but he knows the days are numbered and he knows he’s running out of time.

“You’re a good boy, Himura-kun,” she laughs outright and pats him gently on his shoulder. “I am serious, though. Someone like Sakamoto-kun would understand, I think, if you don’t want to talk to an old woman. We like having you around here, and Sakamoto-kun didn’t seem too upset either.” She winks at him.

“You were aware when I came here looking for employment that there are extenuating circumstances and I would hate to become a burden on your kindness.” It’s the polite response but it settles uncomfortably true twisting among the smoke from the cigarette between his fingers.

“Himura-kun,” she says seriously and Goro looks her in the eye. Her face is set more sage than he’s seen it, even when she presented him with the brochure- evidence of his guilt, though she did not know what he was guilty for. “No one should go through this world alone.”

Goro swallows roughly against a crest of emotion that crashes against his sternum and makes his ribs ache. “I always appreciate your help, Auntie.”

“Good, then listen to this helpful advice and make nice with the Sakamoto boy. He looks adventurous and you need to get out more.” Auntie pats him firmly on the shoulder.

He has no chance to respond; she quickly turns and enters the diner again leaving Goro alone with the alleyway stretching beyond him. He can hear the gentle murmur and clink of tableware while the door slowly shuts and finds a comfort in the white noise he’s not familiar with. He takes another drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt away and following after Auntie.

Sakamoto comes back to the diner almost a full week after he and Goro spoke. Goro is preparing to take food to his assigned tables near the end of his shift when Auntie catches him.

“Your fellow runner is here,” she jokes and Goro feels a spike of anxiety make his fingertips go numb. He knew to anticipate it, knew it was going to happen relatively soon because Sakamoto had been so insistent on it and he didn’t seem the type to let something go, regardless of how trivial. “You’re free to go in 30 minutes so he’s not waiting too long, just make sure all your tables are taken care of before you go.” She seems happy that he appears to have taken her advice, though the plan was made before she made the suggestion. He doesn’t tell her this, simply nods and goes back to arranging the food on the trays to make it easier to carry.

Auntie is quick to move on with her duties after delivering the message and Goro is thankful. Her asserting Goro should interact with Sakamoto was disconcerting at the very least. He had not and does not consider any viable kinship with Sakamoto and his only goal for their dinner together is to let Sakamoto have his fill of whatever thrill there is talking to a dead man. If that is what he needs to let the past die, then Goro will indulge him just once.

Goro passes Auntie on his way back to the kitchen after she’s dropped off a whipped cream monstrosity to a familiar shock of unnatural blond hair. He watches Sakamoto take the first sip, face twisting in disgust before he shovels whipped cream and chocolate sauce into his mouth. He drinks coffee but has no taste for it- the thought almost makes Goro want to laugh.

“I hardly think you could legally call that coffee.” He tells Sakamoto as he steps up behind him and it is immensely satisfying seeing Sakamoto jump in surprise.

He looks at Goro with what is unmistakably a pout. “Asshole,” he murmurs.

Condescension drips off his words because it’s easy to slip into, facing Sakamoto like this, with his too-sweet drink and kicked-puppy eyes. It’s easy to let the feeling of superiority cover him and brace his words like bookends. “I thought you might have forgotten about our little dinner date.” He also might have hoped for much the same so he wouldn’t have to face this particular brand of annoyance.

“I’ve been busy,” Sakamoto tells him, and after a beat, “I thought you might have gotten another job anyway, even though I said you didn’t have to.”

Tired frustration beats down the anger almost immediately, and all Goro can find himself doing is shrugging. “Tried,” he says simply. “You were right that it’s not so easy.” Ignoring Sakamoto’s assumptive words at Goro having _his permission_ to stay, it’s vindicating to watch his face twist with the awkward pause. Goro has an idea about how his words come across to Sakamoto and how the knowledge that Goro tried to leave within the span of a week despite Sakamoto’s protestations would be received.

However, because he was unsuccessful, he is still beholden to the promise he made Sakamoto a week ago. Sakamoto kept his secret for years, after all. His smile feels like acquiescence and he shakes his head, “I’ll be able to leave soon.”

“I’ll be here. Doin’ homework.”

Amazing. Insightful. Illuminating. Goro actively stops himself from rolling his eyes as he acknowledges Sakamoto and walks away. He has too many tables and too many customers to handle to let the anger and anxiety settle too deep into his bones. He has a little under half an hour before his obligatory albeit casual interrogation, and finds interacting with his tables an effective distraction.

Goro puts a on a charming smile that slots into place, soft laughter a regular accompaniment. It’s a personage that he has had much practice with, even though now that same smile and same laughter and same inquisitive tilt of his head is no longer paired with the blinding heat of a row of set lights. It’s still effortless and will hopefully remain that way as he suffers through a couple hours of Sakamoto’s undivided attention.

30 minutes passes too quickly, Goro thinks as Auntie gestures him over and pushes him to clock out. His tables are taken care of, his customers are happy, “Go change, he’s been waiting for you.” Auntie fusses over him but her smile is fond.The less Goro came to the diner after visiting other employment prospects, the happier Auntie seemed to be, and it culminated into an unrelenting smile when he confirmed that he would be spending some time with Sakamoto. Goro is still unsure about what to do with her affections, still does not rely on it being constant, but he changes out of his uniform upon her instruction all the same.

Goro sits on the barstool to the side of Sakamoto and watches him immediately start to pack up his school supplies. He watches him silently, decompressing after changing out of his uniform and seeing how Sakamoto shoves all of his papers into a folder haphazardly and then cram it all into his backpack. Goro fiddles with his hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck unthinkingly.

“Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” Sakamoto asks.

“You’re paying, so we can go wherever.”

Sakamoto’s incredulity is instantaneous, “Oh, I’m paying now?”

Goro twists a strand of hair along one fine boned finger, the edges of his smile pointed needle sharp, “Well, you are the one who is insisting on this. I could have easily avoided you, as you pointed out.” As he should have but it would have only posed the risk of another chance encounter.

“Yeah, I’m glad you didn’t,” Sakamoto mumbles as he leans his face down to put more into his backpack. “Ramen sound good then?”

Goro’s thoughts stutter to a halt, half sentences petering into nothing. There’s no reason for Sakamoto to be glad about anything regarding Goro. The only reason he should be glad is that it would be easier to keep him pinned here for the Phantom Thieves to apprehend him. But he didn’t call the Phantom Thieves here. It’s just him and an earnest dinner invitation with an entire week as a buffer. Enough time to get everyone here, to inform police, Sae-san. Ample time for Goro to have just disappeared if he hadn’t worried about where he would lay his head next.

Sakamoto looks at him.

“Yeah.” Goro says when he finds his words, “Yeah, alright. Lead the way.”

If Sakamoto thinks anything of his sudden mood shift he doesn’t say it out loud. He slides off his seat and heads out of the diner, not looking back to check if Goro followed. Goro doesn’t have to do this, but follows compulsively anyway. He could slip out the back, through the kitchen to the alleyway and out of Iwatodai within 20 minutes, given the train schedule. He could start a brand new life in Saitama without a trace left of him here.

Auntie catches his eye and winks as he leaves.

Goro quickens his pace to walk alongside Sakamoto once they’re on the street proper.

“When I first got to Iwatodai,” the silence shifts around Sakamoto’s words and Goro watches him from the corner of his eye, “my first mission was to find the best ramen shop in the area. It’s not like Ogikubo is super far, but I needed someplace closer, you know?” He chuckles. “I don’t wanna think about how much money I spent trying all these places out, though.”

Goro hums in response and can see the frustration pull at Sakamoto’s face. “You had a food blog, right? You kinda get what i mean?”

His jaw clenches and he forcibly releases the tension, “Eating out can get quite pricey. I don’t partake much anymore.”

“Not living that fancy celebrity life anymore, eh?” Sakamoto keeps his tone light but something hot coils in the pit of Goro’s stomach.

The food blog was to keep him active on social media to sway the opinion of the younger generation. It was to partner the severity of a detective with the softness of an idol, to keep public opinion positive, to keep him within the thoughts of the masses even when not interviewing for public television. It was the movement of a pawn on a chessboard, carefully calculated for the best outcome as he tried to unravel Shido from the inside. Nothing about his celebrity status was easy. Goro smiles around his ire, “Ah, the interviewing begins.” A joke to keep him from choking on his own tongue.

“You don’t gotta talk about it,” Sakamoto plays the part of ‘good cop’ too well. His sincerity, however manufactured, grates against Goro.

“It’s simple, really. When your credit card gets thrown in jail, you get cut off.” The answer is abrasive with purpose, meant to make Sakamoto uncomfortable, to give him an idea of what his questions will lead to. Goro raises an eyebrow challenging Sakamoto to contradict him. To give him an excuse to stop this charade of levity.

“Guess that’s why you haven’t moved too far out, huh?” Sakamoto’s voice shakes and Goro can see how much he regrets his own words.

He hums again and lets following silence hone it into a razor’s edge. Their stride does not falter but Sakamoto makes it a point not to look in his direction, so he lets the moment and his anger dissipate with the light of the setting sun.

When they reach the restaurant there are only a couple of people ahead of them in line. A chill fills in with the night and Goro crosses his arms. Tension sits heavy at the back of his neck and keeping his arms crossed hides how tightly his fists are clenched.

“What kinda ramen do you like?” Sakamoto asks.

“Spicy ramen,” Goro immediately responds. His smile is unbidden but he would take the lack of tension to decrease the intrusiveness of Sakamoto’s questions. He watches as Sakamoto rolls his eyes to an obscene degree.

“Oh, that’s great, they’ve got like a whole challenge you can do then.They take your picture and everything.” Sakamoto’s response is biting but there is no barb to it.

Between his crooked smile and how he hasn’t quite let go of the pout upturning his eyebrows, Goro can’t help his laughter. He had remembered Sakamoto as angry, loud, more inclined to his own cynicism regarding the way of the world rather than working around it for his own benefit. Sakamoto had never attempted to speak with him beyond cursing his existence, the basic requirements of traversing through the metaverse and-

_-more than special._

“You’ve gotten better at sassing people,” Goro tells him.

“I usually can’t do more than one one-liner, though,” Sakamoto looks sheepish scratching at the back of his head.

Goro shakes his head, bubbles of laughter still popping on his teeth, “Seafood. I like seafood ramen.”

Sakamoto nods at him, “Can’t go wrong with this place. I go with the classic flavor myself.”

Goro has no real response, unsurprised by the simple selection. Straightforward is an easy way to describe Sakamoto and it occurs to him that all of the duplicity Goro has been assuming may not be the case. He keeps waiting for the shoe to drop, for Sakamoto to let it slip what his true intentions are insisting that Goro spend time with him, insisting that Goro stay right where he’s at, insisting that he can make a change so Goro doesn’t have to. Insisting he was glad Goro hadn’t left, that he was glad Goro had agreed to eat a meal with him. Insisting he was missed.

When it’s their turn to enter, Sakamoto moves forward to stake a claim on two seats further in. Goro takes a moment behind him, looking at the decor, counting the exits. Everything about it is simple, as expected, but the number of people filling the seats is surprising. It’s a low hum of activity between the gentle sounds of speaking and eating, as well as the louder clamor of food being prepared. His eyes stall on a display of ice cream before he sits down.

Sakamoto takes out a menu before Goro has a chance to reach for one, but he unfolds it on Goro’s direction and points out his recommendations. It’s such an innocuous gesture but Goro doesn’t have the wherewithal to thank him before the waiter is summoned and their orders are taken. Sakamoto drums on the table idly. It adds a gentle backbeat to the thrum of the shop.

“So we know why _I_ haven’t gone too far,” Goro starts, inclined to give Sakamoto the same exhaustive questioning as he had received, “why have you stuck so close to home? Didn’t want to travel, see the world? Or even better yet, follow Amamiya back to his hometown?” His words belie his tone. The latter question may be unfair, since all of Sakamoto’s more pressing and personal questions have come about by apparent accident, but Goro does hold a genuine curiosity. He had not thought someone like Sakamoto would ever stray too far from the epicenter of the Phantom Thieves, wherever he might go.

Sakamoto carefully picks over his words, “It was cheaper to go here than to move further out. Wanted things to be easier on my mom, and I’m close enough to her that I can go home if she needs anything at all.”

The answer was unexpected, but unsurprising. “Ah,” he says, not intending to push it. It’s a valid reason to stay close to Tokyo, and one more personal that just staying close to friends.

Goro is surprised when Sakamoto flounders, “Shit, man, I’m really sorry. First I make you bring up Shido, then I go and bring up my mom even though I know what happened to yours. Two for two on things I should definitely not make you talk about, _wow._ ” Sakamoto takes a long drink of his water.

The care with which Sakamoto presents his remorse makes Goro huff. He hadn’t minded Sakamoto talking about his own mother, especially considering Goro had asked about the reason behind Sakamoto staying so close to home. But for Sakamoto to remember about Goro’s own situation and to be genuinely compassionate that he may have potentially brought up something painful leaves Goro searching for words.

“Are you this insensitive to your friends with dead parents as well?” Joking is easy, that way Goro doesn’t have to think too hard about Sakamoto’s immediate response regarding his well-being.

“I’m not this guy, okay? I’m not the guy people have serious, meaningful conversations with. I’m the guy people go to when they wanna do something simple like eat food, go see a dumb movie. When they wanna study with someone and come out feeling smarter. I’m not.” Sakamoto’s brow furrows, “Good. At handling heavy topics.” He waves the waiter over for more water and grabs Goro’s glass while he waits.

Goro arches an eyebrow to which Sakamoto ignores and continues drinking.

Once the waiter stops by their table to refill their drinks, Goro meets Sakamoto’s eyes. “We could just. _Not._ If you’re not the type to handle lofty topics, we don’t have to. To be frank, I’d prefer it.” It would make this one time occurance easier to get through, to say the least. Sakamoto’s impassioned declarations are more exhausting than Goro would have thought, especially because the suspicion percolating in the back of his mind has not subsided.

Sakamoto sighs, “Yeah?” Goro nods and he watches Sakamoto slump, “I’m sorry, I’m not usually so insistent on bringing past shit up. Probably because, yeah, I’m insensitive about it. I don’t know why I felt like I had to harp on it so much.”

“Probably because my shit is particularly potent,” he says wryly and Sakamoto barks a laugh. Goro can’t help his smile, “So. The age old question, what are you studying?” An easy topic change, a safe topic change, too. The future is much easier to face than the past.

“Physical therapy.” Sakamoto answers. Goro tilts his head in charismatic inquisition. “I dunno if you knew about my leg. I was in track and it got a bad break.” Goro looks over at his legs and Sakamoto rubs at what Goro can assume is the afflicted one. The way Sakamoto holds his words makes it seem like there is more to that story. That it wasn’t just a sports related injury. He would have expected additional explanation from Sakamoto, for him to illustrate some heroic tale of how he fell from glory. “The physical therapists are the only reason I can walk as well as I can. I wanna be able to return the favor, I guess, by helping others in the same way.”

“Ever the hero, helping others.” The snide lilt is unintentional but Goro’s own sincerity surprises him. Sakamoto had always been loud about being a Phantom Thief, he had been loud at how he viewed his justice, he had been loud in wanting to help people. Seeing the culmination of his brazen teenage self lead to him taking his own pain and using it as motivation to help others gave better explanation to the sincerity Sakamoto has given Goro through the past week.

Sakamoto shrugs, “You going to school or…?” He lets his words trail into the constant murmur of the shop.

Goro should have known this question was coming. He looks away. An exit to his left. One presumably through the kitchen. No visible windows from this vantage point. “Nope. Pretty difficult to apply for schools when you don’t exist.” Pretty hard to finish requisite secondary schooling when you don’t exist. For all Goro did he still holds the petty frustration that he was unable to finish high school at the very least.

“How do you mean?” Sakamoto’s question is immediate and him telling Goro that he is not the friend to handle heavy topics is brought to focus with how reactionary he is.

“Akechi Goro disappeared around the same time Shido’s heart was changed. All of my records,” and accomplishments, and struggles, and crimes, “are under that name. I am essentially off the grid.”

“Do you have to be though?” The question should be sharper than the way Sakamoto asks. It should be as barbed and angry as Goro feels. But it’s not. It’s the simple innocuous curiosity of the man sitting across from him just trying to understand.

It feels like pity Goro does not want. He watches the kitchen staff move with chaotic ease. “You heard what my cognitive self said, no? Shido planned to kill me all along. He probably already had players in place to make sure that happened. I think the reason it took the public opinion so long to sway was due to a massive clean up. Disposing of me might have been part of that.”

Disposing of Goro was definitely part of that. Once his cognitive self showed up in Shido’s palace, there was no doubt about Shido’s intent. He had thought he had secured his place among the few Shido trusted, however disgusted that made him feel, but he had instead made himself a loose end. He should have anticipated as much given Shido’s reaction to Wakaba, but he had been young and naive and more gullible than he gave himself credit for.

He can feel Sakamoto’s eyes on him. He can feel him chew the words. “Well. I’m glad they didn’t get to you, then.”

Goro’s head snaps back to look at Sakamoto. The pity he felt wasn’t there, the disgust he felt he deserved wasn’t there, either. Sakamoto’s expression is open and his words are earnest and Goro can’t keep up. Sakamoto keeps offering him kindness that Goro can’t accept.

Their food arriving saves him from having to answer and Sakamoto’s distraction is a welcomed grace. It smells amazing and Sakamoto makes a pleased sound, quick to take the first taste.

Goro follows suit, savoring it. It’s been quite a while since he had something as rich as ramen, and just the first sip of broth fills him with warmth. Old habits have him eating slower, more contained in his bites, but it also helps prolong the food. Sakamoto does not seem to have the same reservations and eats with fervor, loudly slurping noodles and broth alike. He’s not as bothered by it as he would normally be, finding he has a little more patience for Sakamoto than he would have thought. That realization makes him focus more on his food for the duration of their meal which is blessedly without conversation.

“Dessert?” Sakamoto asks gesturing to the ice cream display after their meals are finished and their bowls cleared from the table.

Goro gives a very fake yawn in response. He does not want to think about why Sakamoto seems to want to spend more time with him, he’s unable to come up with any concrete answer and the more he thinks on it the more the same questions run circles through his head. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short. It’s been quite a long day.” Sakamoto ignores his bad acting but agrees.

They go to stand and Sakamoto reaches for his wallet. Goro hesitates. Telling Sakamoto that he was required to pay had been done mostly in jest.

“I’ve got this,” Sakamoto tells him, “I owe ya, remember?”

A debt for a free meal that Goro lost nothing from, given in an vain attempt to apologize for something much larger than a single diner meal. Goro nods, “I’ll be outside, then.”

Goro had not realized how claustrophobic the shop had felt until he was standing on the curb just outside the front door taking a deep breath of the cool night air. He fishes his pack of cigarettes from his backpack and lights one. Tension had crept up his spine and buried into his trapezii, and he rolls his shoulders to try and ease it as he takes his first drag.

The taste of smoke overpowers the lingering saltiness from the ramen and he exhales heavily through his nose, watching the smoke vanish under the light of a lamp post.

The dinner had been. Successful. There were undoubtedly some rough spots, as to be expected, but not nearly the interrogation he had suspected there would be. It’s obvious Sakamoto has preconceived notions about what Goro would be like, how he would react to certain lines of questioning. But his responses had not been in line with the rude, brash boy that had once cursed his name and his existence.

His cordiality was constant, even when he thought he had inadvertently offended or upset Goro. It doesn’t make sense. Sakamoto doesn’t owe Goro anything. Saving his life had not meant he was now owed a life debt, it was a small amount of recompense for everything else Goro had done. Goro had thought that it was obvious. But Sakamoto insists on Goro staying where he is comfortable, insists on avoiding touchy subjects and apologizing if he falls into unavoidable pits, insists that he owes Goro a meal because Goro couldn’t think of any other way to apologize for intruding on his life.

Goro takes another drag of his cigarette and exhales slowly. The stream of smoke curls in front of him and obscurs his vision of the dark road. He exhales the rest in a quick huff.

He hears Sakamoto exit the shop and pause. Goro takes another deep drag, lets the smoke burn down his throat. He catches Sakamoto’s eyes and exhales out of the corner of his mouth away from him. “Want one?”

“Nah, I don’t smoke.”

Predictable. Goro shrugs. The cigarette has burned almost all the way to the filter and he takes another drag.

“It suits you, though, I guess.” Less predictable.

“Does it?” He holds the filter by his lips, letting the end of it rest against his teeth.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to be a smoker, but it does suit you.” Goro raises an eyebrow at him, his repetition doing nothing to explain. “I guess it’s the smoke. It’s cool to look at, like when it’s cold outside and you huff to see your breath? And then it’s gone in a moment, fading away into the air but you can’t help but wanna see it again.”

There’s a lot folded into Sakamoto’s words, albeit childishly executed. It explains his apparent fixation with Goro, at the very least. He takes a last drag and blows the smoke upwards between them, mimicking Sakamoto’s description. It’s easy to see the appeal, he thinks.

“Dangerous to your health, but addictive nonetheless.” He says, letting his words mix with the quickly disappearing smoke.

Sakamoto looks at him, tilting his head, “Huh?”

He didn’t expect Sakamoto to understand his own metaphor. He didn’t expect him to take a warning handed to him on a platter. “Want to walk me home?” Goro asks instead. It’s easier to offer than for him to follow him unbidden, sneaking behind bushes when Goro turns corners too quickly, and he tells him as much.

Sakamoto puts his hand on his chest dramatically, “I’m just concerned for your safety.”

The image is ridiculous and Goro doesn’t feel bad for laughing, “There’s your one.” He motions Sakamoto to walk with him and side by side they enjoy a comfortable silence. Sakamoto does not disrupt it and Goro is too consumed with his own thoughts to press him on the matter. He wishes there had been some kind of revelation, some reasoning behind Sakamoto’s treatment of him, but the longer the night went on the less clear that reasoning was, the more the same questions rise and fall through his thoughts.

He wants to know where Sakamoto’s hostility towards him went, but does not want to hear the reason he thinks it is. He does not want Sakamoto’s subconscious pity, he does not want him to look with those ridiculous sad puppy dog eyes and pout and think he is a _victim_ of all things. He does not want an explanation of kindness when that kindness stems from Sakamoto looking down on him, whether Sakamoto realizes it or not.

He did this obligatory dinner, though the feeling of a debt towards Sakamoto presses at his temples, and that was all he said he would offer. He unclenches his hands at his sides seeing his apartment building grow closer, but Sakamoto looks no less out of his own head even as they get to the entrance.

“So, uh, thanks for comin’ out with me.”

Goro takes a step away from him and towards the building, humming. “I hope I satisfied your curiosity.”

“Not really,” always quick to react, always quick to say what’s on his mind.

The feeling of debt owed pushes at him again, more insistent. “I will allow one unabashed question that I will try my best to answer.” It’s opening himself up too much, potentially. Giving Sakamoto this chance could determine a lot, mainly how quickly he needs to find a job in Saitama.

“For real?”

“Is that your question?” It’s too easy.

“No, asshole,” Goro smirks at him, can’t help it, while Sakamoto visibly wracks his brain for the most pressing question he has.

Goro runs through a myriad of questions that could be asked. How he ended up here, what was he doing before, what his plans are here. If he still has access to the metaverse, if he still has connections through Shido, how he was introduced to the metaverse, his connection to the research of cognitive pscience-

“Who’s Himura Koji?”

Goro freezes his face, keeps his smirk firm. Sakamoto looks markedly uncomfortable but Goro is at a loss once again. Of anything, of all the damning information Goro has, of all the evidence he could bear witness to, Sakamoto asks him who he is. Not how he found the name Himura Koji, not why Himura Koji. Who he is. And Goro finds himself wanting to tell a truth only the dead know.

He looks away from Sakamoto, towards a starless sky, dark for the city lights. “On record? He’s a boy who was orphaned at seven years old. Displaced from his modest childhood home to an institution that didn’t care where its children ended up, as long as they went somewhere. He proved to be trouble because they kept giving him back. Nobody wanted him. Then, when he was fifteen, he up and left. Disappeared without a trace.” Goro catches his eyes and sees something he can’t name. He shrugs, “Now he works at a diner in Iwatodai, serving nosy college students who think his life is somehow worth something.”

“It is.”

Goro wishes Sakamoto’s rapidfire reactions would stop taking him by surprise. “Spare me,” is all he can muster and he turns to enter his apartment building.

“Wait,” Sakamoto calls and Goro obliges, “is that your real name?”

Goro huffs, suddenly tired. Suddenly regretting all he’s offered. “I promised one answer.” The door shutting is loud in the entryway of the complex. It feels like the walls shake with the force of it, like it rattles in Goro’s bones. He does not think about the four story climb, does not think about the key clicking into place, does not think about toeing off his shoes and shedding his backpack and falling face first into his mattress.

_Who is Himura Koji? Is that your real name?_ Over and over. Earnestness tilting the questions. He’s glad he promised just the one answer, because he doesn’t think he could answer the second.

* * *

Goro stops looking for housing alternatives by the next week, and Auntie seems to notice. She gives him sweets in addition to his employee meals, or extra servings of what he orders, or drinks with whipped cream piled high. It’s easy to throw himself into his work; as the days pass and he does not see any additional Phantom Thieves milling about in a hoodie as a poor excuse for a disguise, the suspicion dulls from something searing to a dull thought in the back of his mind.

He also does not see Sakamoto for a fair handful of days but does not think much of it. He had not seen Sakamoto for the entirety of his first week there, and only once a week thereafter. Going so many days without him either being at the diner during Goro’s shift or going to the diner at all is not unlikely.

Goro also stops counting how many days it’s been. Sakamoto has made himself apparent that he did not and will continue to not inform anyone of Goro’s identity, and he lets the anxiety rest a bit.

It’s easier to gain his necessary proficiencies when he does not have so much dread looming over him as well.

When Sakamoto does appear at the diner at the same time as Goro, it seems the despair has been transferred. He takes the same seat he did when Goro first encountered him without being seated by the available hostess, and no one moves to inform him to wait. It’s Goro’s section again, and he thinks that luck is an ugly, fickle thing.

Auntie approaches after seeing him stall serving Sakamoto. “You know, he likes his coffee picture perfect, mostly whipped cream and sugar and chocolate syrup. It’s surprising he has such a sweet tooth, don’t you think?” She giggles and Goro shrugs. “What’s the old adage, Himura-kun? Appearances can be deceiving?”

“I believe so, yes, Auntie.” Goro side eyes her but his smile is crooked.

“Good, go offer him one,” she swats at his hip and walks away, leaving Goro very little choice but to do his job.

Sakamoto has his head hung as Goro approaches, “Picture perfect coffee?” He asks, placing a menu in front of him.

“Can you bring me a cream soda?” He asks instead.

Goro raises his eyebrows, looking him over, taking in how not only his head his hung but his slouch is much more pronounced in the booth. “Are you not feeling picture perfect today?”

“No,” Goro feels his eyebrows climb higher. Sakamoto is absolutely moping. “Maybe if I stare at a cream soda I’ll be able to feel some joy. They’re aesthetically pleasing, ya know?”

“That they are,” Goro agrees with little feeling, “Might I recommend the pork cutlet meal to boost your spirits?”

“Man, you’re not even trying to give me that dazzling customer service voice.” Sakamoto whines at him, slapping the menu on the table almost petulantly.

“I’m pretty sure you’re quite familiar with how dazzling I can make my personality.” Goro smiles but he can feel it curl into a smirk. He looks over Sakamoto again, notes the dark circles, how deeply he slumps, and asks, “But really, when’s the last time you ate?”

“Don’t worry, you’re getting my money. I’ll do the pork cutlet.” Sakamoto misinterprets concern that hit Goro so fast he had not realized his own intention behind the question.

“Excellent, thank you so much for your patronage.” He flashes Sakamoto a blinding smile and Sakamoto shields his eyes. Goro laughs and settles his weight on one foot, cocking his hip, comfort settling him. “Really now, what’s got you so troubled?”

The shift is immediate. Sakamoto fidgets uncomfortably, is slow to start stuttered words, “I, uh, had a research paper. Couldn’t find any info on the subject, though. I looked for days and got nothing new.”

Goro narrows his eyes. “That seems like an impossible assignment.” Suddenly all of the suspicions are back at the forefront of his mind. Sakamoto is not subtle; it’s obvious he had attempted to look up Himura as a family name in the directories. It’s obvious he found the only pertinent information, though none of it included Koji.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.” Sakamoto sounds defeated but Goro waits for more. When nothing is offered, he clicks his tongue.

“Let me get you your aesthetically pleasing cream soda.” He tries to keep the ice out of his words as cold climbs up his spine. He turns on his heel and all but marches into the kitchen to request Sakamoto’s cream soda and pork cutlet bowl.

The drink is out quickly, and he drops it off at the table without a word. The diner is busy enough that night that Goro is constantly moving. He picks up the pork cutlet bowl and delivers it just the same. His anger is icy but Sakamoto seems unaffected, blind to how Goro offers no additional conversation and does not linger long enough for Sakamoto to start it.

He had offered information about Himura Koji in a moment of weakness, swayed by Sakamoto’s apparent lack of ill will. He had made a miscalculation and Sakamoto had taken it in an attempt to find additional information to hold over Goro’s head. It would have been easy to give the name to their resident Medjed, less easy to trace the lack of information back, but now that his name was being used again, he was trackable no matter where he went.

It didn’t matter if he stayed in Iwatodai or traveled an hour away or four hours away, Himura Koji was no longer a name struck from record.

Except if they had wanted to trap him, he’d given them ample time to. If they had wanted to make a move they would have done so weeks ago. There’s no reason to stake him out if they already had the address of his apartment and his place of employment.

He clenches and unclenches his fist, standing in front of the system to clock out. Sakamoto had only done what he would have done- what anyone would have done eventually. The name on his name tag did not match who Sakamoto thought he was, so him attempting to do additional research is. Expected. He didn’t try to wheedle anything else out of Goro, hadn’t even wanted to tell him what he’d done. Sakamoto had taken the loss and let it lie.

“Auntie,” Goro grabs her attention as she wipes down the counter at the bar.

She hums.

“I’d like to use my employee meal on a customer.”

Auntie rounds on him, “Again? Himura-kun, you need to eat! I’m glad you’re getting comfortable but comped meals are supposed to be a _rare_ occurrence.” She puts her hands on her hips.

“I understand, Auntie, but I’m afraid I made a few assumptions and my service was not at the level it should be.” Goro keeps his eyes downcast.

“Assumptions?” She looks over to area four. “Ah,” she tuts when her eyes fall on Sakamoto. “You can’t be making this a habit, Himura-kun.”

“I won’t, Auntie.” It’s agreement enough. He hesitates before clocking out, heading to the kitchen to ask them to prepare a coffee picture perfect. He delivers it to Sakamoto’s table without any declaration and when he looks up at Goro in question, Goro just shrugs.

Auntie catches him as he’s about to clock out, “Adding a little extra to your employee meal, Himura-kun?”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he bows to her in lieu of answering.

“Of course,” she waves away his words with an eyeroll, “now hurry home and make sure you eat something!” She swats at him with the towel in her hand.

Sakamoto has not moved by the time Goro changes out of his uniform and gathers his belongings. He sees no reason to bid him goodbye, and the faster he leaves the faster he can lay in bed and let his aching legs rest.

It’s late enough in the day that a majority of the foot traffic has died down. It’s a peaceful lull in between the bustle, and Goro soaks it up, lets his mind wander as the sun sets.

He’s still bewildered about Sakamoto’s actions, or rather, his lack thereof. Even after telling him about Himura Koji, even after he researched it himself and found nothing, he did not pry. There was no subtle attempt to weasel the information out of him, there was no beligerant questioning fueled by frustration because Goro would not comply. He can’t reason with it. Can’t find the root cause for his courtesy or his understanding. Why would he keep it all a secret when it would be so easy to tell everyone? Sakamoto had spoken so extensively about the Phantom Thieves’ justice when Goro was fighting alongside them.

He has no more answers than he started with by the time he gets to his apartment and he unclenches his fists to unlock the door, shaking out the ache that settled in his knuckles. He toes off his shoes in the genkan, and heads into the modest kitchen area to find something to eat.

His refrigerator does not hold much, but he’s able to pull together a meager meal. Goro sits heavily on his bed, the only piece of furniture he was able to fit in so small a space, and eats slowly. He pulls the same questions and same answers in the same spinning carousel and can’t parse any further information. He wants to be able to shut thoughts about Sakamoto off, wants to be done with this guessing game he’s playing with himself because it’s too hard to believe that Sakamoto is playing with his cards face up on the table.

A commotion starts up somewhere in the apartment complex and Goro closes his eyes. His landlord is not a patient man and he is usually quick to quiet any noise that would be qualified as a disturbance. He is very severe and his view of Goro is very low, but he’ll take a quiet living space over a kind hearted fool.

Except the clamor only gets louder and Goro can hear the quick opening and slamming of doors that could only be a floor beneath him. Raised voices followed with the harsh bang of a door hitting the jamb. He’s content not to intervene, setting aside his dishware after he’s done eating and laying down with a flop. The voices get louder and he stares at the ceiling in annoyance.

Goro can almost make out the voices- obviously only a few doors down.

“..make… fucking phone call…”

“... couldn’t wait… I wouldn’t be here!”

Goro sits up very quickly and rubs a hand over his face. They’ve escalated into yelling and Goro can hear both parties clearly. He opens his door and leans down the hallway to find Sakamoto in a shouting match with his landlord.

“Excuse me,” Goro cuts in. Sakamoto whips around to look at him, eyes bright and smile growing.

Goro’s face is twisted with displeasure as he watches Sakamoto saunter down the hallway like he hadn’t almost had the police called on him for the disturbance.

Sakamoto is cheeky when he tosses, “Found him,” over his shoulder.

His landlord goes a peculiar shade of red. “This better not happen again,” he warns Goro.

“It won’t, I assure you.” He ducks his head politely before glaring at Sakamoto and motioning him inside.

Sakamoto slips his shoes off the moment the door shuts and looks around Goro’s humble living space. Goro is very suddenly embarrassed for Sakamoto to see how little he has. “You can sit there,” he nods to the bed.

He steps to the kitchen and pours Sakamoto a glass of water, handing it to him and wrapping his arms around himself. Tension tightens his shoulders as he watches Sakamoto drink.

“That guy was a dick,” Sakamoto says finally.

Goro leans against the sink with a sigh. “He’s my landlord.”

Sakamoto balks, “ _Shit._ I’m sorry, you gonna be alright?” And there’s the immediate concern. Showing up unannounced, uninvited, without reason. But he still is immediate to apologize for anything he may have done.

Goro shrugs, then smirks, “It’s alright, he is a dick.” It makes Sakamoto chuckle but Goro can’t shake his own frown. “So what was so important that you had to bother everyone in the building?”

There’s the immediate switch again from boisterous to shy, “You covered my meal.”

Goro searches for an ulterior motive, waits to let Sakamoto say more. “Yes?”

“I wanted to know why. And I don’t have your phone number or anything, but I know where you live, so I came here.” Sakamoto’s face is so open and irritation flares in Goro.

“You also know where I _work._ You really couldn’t- I don’t even have a phone, by the way but _why_ would you…” He can’t get his thoughts in order. He pushes his hands to cover his face and stops himself from making an exasperated noise.

“You don’t have a phone?”

Goro throws his hands up. “No. I don’t. I can barely afford this shit hole even working as much as I do. Who the hell would I even talk to? _You?_ ”

“Maybe,” Sakamoto mumbles.

A dam breaks. “If you’re looking for information, there’s nothing. I haven’t done anything in the past two years. Haven’t killed anybody, haven’t harmed anybody,” he can hear himself grow louder in his anger. He takes a deep breath and lets the rest of his rage concentrate in the pit of his stomach. “All I’ve been doing,” he continues outwardly calmer, “since you changed Shido’s heart is try to survive and stay out of sight. And I can barely do that. I have nothing important to tell you.”

Sakamoto’s openness hasn’t changed. He’s still looking up at Goro from the bed, head tilted slightly, “Then why did you buy me dinner?”

“I don’t like owing people favors.” An easy excuse to give.

“You didn’t owe me?” Sakamoto argues, confusion weighing down his words. “I literally bought you dinner as thanks for covering my meal the first time.” He seems to brighten slightly, “Now I owe ya another dinner!”

Goro shakes his head. “I don’t understand you. What do you even want? It’s not like I’m a joy to talk to.”

“Who says?” Sakamoto jokes and Goro thinks he might throttle him. “I don’t know, man. New city, new people? I don’t really know anybody and clearly you don’t either. I guess it’d be nice to have somebody you know?”

“Then befriend your classmates, I have no interest in clinging to the past, and I’m not your charity case.” The words taste like bile. Sakamoto’s pity folds into the anger sitting hot and spreading from his stomach.

“Geez, dude, you don’t have to make a big deal out of this!” Sakamoto groans like Goro is being the difficult one, like Goro has pushed at these interactions and then rescinded his involvement. “Weren’t _you_ the one who said we didn’t have to deal with heavy topics? I thought that implied something, and then you bought my meal again? I don’t know, maybe I thought you wanted to be friends, too.”

“Well you were wrong.” Biting. Icy to sooth the fire licking at his throat, “I was merely clearing my debts.”

Sakamoto frowns. “I don’t believe you.”

Incredulity makes Goro reactionary. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t believe you. Your logic doesn’t make sense, I think you’re just saying whatever to get rid of me.”

“And yet you’re still here.” Goro sneers.

“Yeah, until you give me a good reason not to be, asshole. You didn’t deny it though.” Sakamoto’s childish petulance is all at once exhausting. The repetition of all of his questions, the _why_ at the base of everything, makes him very suddenly wish that this could be over.

Goro shrugs because it is all he feels he is able to do. “You’re too-” a beat, “-stubborn to argue with.” Sakamoto’s smug grin is infuriating in its own right.

“So…” Smug is not a good look on Sakamoto. His face is too soft for it to have any real effect, “Dinner sometime next week? On me?”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” The realization accompanies dawning dread when Sakamoto shakes his head. Goro finds himself mirroring it. He presses his lips together in a thin line, “Fine. For the sake of score keeping.”

He expects Sakamoto to boast but he doesn’t. The smug look melts into self-satisfaction, “Thanks for the water,” he says standing and Goro is relieved Sakamoto has read the room enough to know that it’s the end of the conversation.

Goro watches him test weight on the leg he had pointed out earlier as previously injured. He seems satisfied with what he finds.

“Thanks for embarrassing me in front of the entire complex,” he gives Sakamoto a smile and opens the door to show him out and Sakamoto smiles back, daring to be smug.

The look falls very quickly, though. Sakamoto sighs dejectedly after looking into the hallway, “Really? Elevator broken, fourth floor? Wanna get more unlucky?”

Goro doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Maybe you should heed the warnings.” Maybe they should have been heeded weeks ago, before Sakamoto pressed him for the truth, maybe years ago before the metaverse twisted Tokyo apart.

Sakamoto pretends to think hard for a moment, “No thanks. I’m bad at following directions. Always been a troublesome student in that way.” And then he winks at him and Goro has never seen such audacity in his life. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah. Alright.” He closes the door behind Sakamoto and can’t pinpoint how he feels- how he should feel. The carousel is spinning faster, cacophonous questions that seem unbelievable. He settles heavily on the bed, the silence almost oppressive now that Sakamoto’s left. This was supposed to have ended a week ago with the first meal invitation. Goro was supposed to have appeased the most basic curiosities so that Sakamoto would be satisfied and they could move on.

It feels too much like dredging up the past, like all that awaits Goro now are cruel reminders of his own inadequacies. Sakamoto has already given him pity he doesn’t need or want. This false comraderie will not last. Sakamoto did not like Goro before, and clinging to what could have been does not help anyone.

He sighs deep, lets the frustration ebb high and then flow out. Sakamoto would grow bored eventually, and when that happened he would be cast aside, no longer the interesting new play thing that had captured his attention. It was only a matter of time, and Goro could be patient.


	2. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We could just call it friendship instead.” There is no unsure pause, no halting doubts or hesitance. Sakamoto says it like it’s the natural course of events and it twists something cold and sharp in Goro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient about this update y'all, it ended up being a lot more than I anticipated and I have Depression (tm). It's also 11:30pm on 6/2 so this is absolutely posted for Goro's bday

Sakamoto visits the diner more frequently in the week following the altercation at Goro’s apartment complex. Regardless of what time Goro was scheduled, Sakamoto would either already be sipping contentedly on the sugary mess he tried to call coffee, or he would walk in part way through Goro’s shift and mysteriously always be seated in Goro’s section. Sakamoto beams at him just the same, all smiles despite the amount of homework he always surrounds himself with and Goro’s own icy retorts. It’s unnerving. Goro is just waiting for the other shoe to drop because he knows smiles are just another way to bare your teeth.

Sakamoto was insistent on another dinner at his expense, asking Goro how he felt about smaller restaurants specializing in sutameshi or if he would prefer something more foreign, like French or American. Sakamoto had smirked broadly at one particular diner visit as Goro dropped off his barely-coffee and asked if Goro would like to do something flashy like teppanyaki.

“Careful,” Goro smiled sweetly at him, “it would not do well to let your head grow bigger than your wallet.” He had turned his back on Sakamoto’s stuttering with a measure of satisfaction. Goro finds himself falling back on old habits because of Sakamoto. He gives insults hidden under a thin layer of pleasantness, talks in circles, asks pointed questions waiting for Sakamoto to slip up.

Auntie smiles at him and tells Goro she’s happy he listened to her advice, proud at how quickly he’s managed to do it. Goro can feel his ears burn and can’t name the feeling that sits hard and cold under his ribs.

“I’ve got it,” Sakamoto tells him with unveiled enthusiasm when Goro makes another pass to check on him. Goro can feel Auntie’s eyes on his back.

“I am on tenterhooks.” Goro says flatly, neatly stacking empty plates and glassware.

Sakamoto looks pleased with himself, “How does yakiniku sound?” He leans forward, trying to catch Goro’s gaze. Goro makes a show of mulling it over, carefully adjusting the dishware in his hands.

It’s obvious that Sakamoto genuinely believes yakiniku would be a good fit. It’s engaging enough that conversation would not be necessary, private enough without the constant requirement of hailing waitstaff for assistance. It’s rich and filling, certainly worth the money.

“I might be convinced to accompany you to yakiniku.” Sakamoto just smiles wider at Goro’s posturing.

Goro got through the first dinner, he thinks, he can do another. And then maybe Sakamoto won’t be present for every one of his shifts, always waiting and eager at his regular table in section four. Initially he had thought that Sakamoto’s class schedule and his work schedule had serendipitously synced, but the way Sakamoto’s head whips up when Goro walks through the diner doors, like he had been waiting, like he had done the same for every patron that had walked in before Goro, had Goro thinking that Sakamoto’s recent increase in visiting frequency was purposeful.

It makes him itch to keep looking for a new apartment and a new job. He does not act on it, resigning himself to Auntie’s forced kindness and Sakamoto’s badgering and sitting on his bed at the end of a long day and wondering how long it’s going to last. So many days are relief followed by harrowing dread when Goro is at the diner before Sakamoto. So many times he thinks Sakamoto may have given up, only for him to walk in later, looking around for Goro while Goro waits for the rest of the Phantom Thieves to file in behind him, for this small bit of respite to end because they’re supposed to be the heroes and Goro has never been anything but the opposite of that.

The thought follows Goro through his duties. Sakamoto has said so many pretty things, wrapped them in bungling sincerity and smiles that were only kind, but that’s not how these stories go. That’s not how the heroes treat the villains.

“What’s your work schedule tomorrow?” Sakamoto asks him when he makes his final pass to hand him the check.

“I’m off earlier in the evening, I assume you’ll be here?” Goro carefully crosses his arms, hiding how tightly his fists are clenched.

Sakamoto at least has the decency to look bashful, “Yeah, I should be here.”

Goro actively fights a sneer. _Should be_ , like Sakamoto hasn’t been effectively stalking him and tracking his whereabouts daily. Like he can’t see every time Sakamoto glances his way with his phone in hand and how quickly he averts his eyes when Goro catches him staring.

The rest of his shift is short and blurred. Sakamoto leaves soon after and the diner, though it does cater to a late-night crowd, thins out to very few patrons. It’s empty quiet. Goro sits, waiting, his section empty and Auntie busy counting the till. It’s peaceful in a way Goro had not anticipated for any stage of his life. There’s a bite to the thought, a cold burning that sits angry at the back of his mind as he surveys the diner, patrons that mean nothing to him or anyone else seated content. Tired-eyed college students, salary men with drooping ties and wrinkled shirts. Lonely nobodies with nothing to go home to, and Goro is loathe to lump himself in with such stark mediocrity.

He had worked hard to get to this low level job and it stings so viscerally, for one hot second, he wishes that Sakamoto would tell the Phantom Thieves about him and his survival and his current abysmal living conditions. At least then he would be reminded that he did something, once. He did something and it meant something, good, bad, or otherwise. He hadn’t always been a disappointment, he hadn’t always been unwanted.

It’s a thought that had not bothered him in some time. He had accepted his fall from grace when no one seemed to remember his name; he had reasoned it was better than wallowing in the ugly leftovers of a life he would never have.

But the reappearance of Sakamoto has everything presented at the forefront again, all of his mistakes and missteps and miscalculations, all of the pathetic aftermath of childish naivete. The anger washes over him in waves through the rest of his shift and the rest of the night. A back and forth tidal pull of anger at Sakamoto and the Phantom Thieves and the world and then the gentle nothingness of resignation.

Goro is exhausted, but cannot find relief in what fitful sleep he can catch. He wants to blame Sakamoto for that, too, blame him for the resurgence of night terrors that wake him with a jackrabbit heartbeat and sweat cold on his temples. But the monsters that hide in the shadowy corners of his apartment are more real than anything the metaverse could throw at him, and much bigger than the Phantom Thieves could ever hope to be.

Auntie can see the tiredness the next morning when Goro arrives for his shift. She tuts at him, tells him that growing boys need their rest. She pulls at his cheek, gently, barely a squeeze at all, before putting a warm cup of coffee in his hands and clucking, “Sleep is also important to keep your skin healthy and combat aging.”

“Ah, is that why you look so young, Auntie?” He takes a sip and she winks at him, quick to turn back to her duties fixing up the diner from the breakfast rush and readying it for the incoming lunch rush. Goro takes a seat at the bar, savoring the coffee, a touch of bitterness seeping through the milk and sugar Auntie had added to it. Its warmth fills him and Goro takes the moment to breathe.

There are very few patrons left from the morning bustle, mostly older couples, seated in far booths and taking careful sips from their tea cups with shaky hands. Potential frenetic energy hangs in the air like dust motes, suspended in the in-between of one busy moment to another. It’s been a few weeks, but it has become a familiar routine to fall into.

Goro finishes his coffee and brings the cup back to the kitchen, greeted by coworkers he’s beginning to recognize and offering greeting in return. He ties his hair back, dons his apron, and gets to work.

The first several hours are enough of a distraction from the anxiety pressing against his bones. He focuses on customers and their easy orders and the difficult ones. He greets regulars with a media smile and quiet, tittering laughter that older ladies especially coo at in return. He runs in circles from tables to the kitchen and back again in an unending line of requests and orders and additions and corrections. It quiets the angry buzzing that sits at the back of Goro’s mind, the perpetual expectation that Sakamoto will eventually betray whatever could be considered trust between them.

It is enough of a distraction that Goro does not immediately notice when Sakamoto enters the diner. Sakamoto is close to completing his drink and most of one homework assignment before Goro sees him sitting in another watistaff’s section. It’s surprising that Sakamoto did not immediately flag him down, especially considering his behavior this past week. This sharpens the edge to Goro’s anxiety that had been dormant through the last couple of hours.

Goro continues like he had not seen Sakamoto. He puts all of his effort and attention into his seating group and the customers therein, letting the familiar pattern dull the bright thoughts of what would make Sakamoto suddenly act so differently.

He’s running orders to the kitchen when Auntie taps his shoulder.

“Big plans tonight?” She smiles conspiratorially, nodding at Sakamoto’s bowed head several booths over.

“What makes you say that, Auntie?” He’s partly distracted inputting the orders and placing full water glasses on his tray.

Auntie makes a thoughtful noise. “It may be because you’ve looked over at Sakamoto-kun several times since he entered. I know excitement for prospective plans when I see it!” She grins at him and pats him on the shoulder. “You seem the type to make friends quickly, I’m not surprised! Let me know if you need to leave a little earlier today.”

She’s off to her other duties before Goro can respond and it strikes him that he had not even noticed himself looking over at all. He grits his teeth and locks a smile as he takes the drinks over to their appropriate tables.

Sakamoto still has not attempted to gain his attention by the last hour of Goro’s shift and the lack of boisterous chatter has Goro’s nerves on edge. He takes an extra smoke break to relieve the tension set into his jaw and ignores Auntie’s knowing smile when he passes her in the kitchen.

It’s easy to explain, he thinks to himself as he takes a long drag. Sakamoto is preoccupied with homework- while they may have plans tonight, it does not put all other obligations on hold. Sakamoto is leaving Goro to his work just as Goro is leaving Sakamoto to his. He takes another drag. But that has never stopped Sakamoto from flagging him down at every opportunity before, nor has it stopped him from following Goro home and insisting upon interaction Goro is sure they both would be better without.

Goro bites at the cigarette filter, his mouth tasting like ash. He stubs the cigarette and heads back inside, washes his hands methodically and rinses his mouth out once in the backroom sink, holds himself over the basin for a beat too long.

Auntie makes a sound behind him and he forces himself not to finch. “I’ve got all your tables covered, you’re free to go at any time.” He turns to look at her and the smile she gives him is soft and kind.

He bows shallowly, “Thank you, Auntie.”

“No need to be so formal!” She swats at him playfully and pushes him towards his belongings, “You’re always so serious, too serious for a kid your age, go have some fun!”

There’s still water clinging to the tips of his bangs as he changes out of his apron and clocks out, finding himself unable to meet Auntie’s eyes. He can hear her chuckle to herself as he leaves the backroom and heads towards Sakamoto. Maya-chan wishes him a good night as he weaves through the tables and stands before Sakamoto’s table expectantly.

Sakamoto looks up and jerks back, like Goro’s presence is a surprise, like he hasn’t been sitting in the diner for hours waiting for Goro’s shift to be over and passing the time with educational obligations. It occurs to Goro belatedly that, considering Sakamoto’s lack of instigating behavior, he could have easily slipped out of the diner and avoided the yakiniku plans altogether. That the only reason he had agreed to the plan in the first place was because of Sakamoto’s unrelenting badgering.

“Oh! Is it time already?” Sakamoto looks at the time on his phone and hurriedly puts his things into his backpack, “Sorry, man, today has been super long for some reason, guess I zoned out!” He flashes Goro an eager smile and something Goro refuses to call relief blooms hot in the palms of his hands.

Goro steps back to give Sakamoto room to step out and follows him out of the diner. It’s like a switch was flipped. Sakamoto is just as talkative as he had been for the past week, bemoaning school schedules and homework requirements and testing, chattering to fill the silence between them like there wasn’t nearly an entire day of silence sitting heavy along the length of Goro’s spine.

It’s stilted though, brief pauses that Goro watches him speak around. The words aren’t his focus, nor is the walk, nor is Goro. Goro clenches his fists and follows him to the restaurant, adding little to the empty conversation, the pinpricks of his fingernails digging into his palms chasing away any semblance of relief that may have sat there.

“I’ve heard this place is really good,” Sakamoto tells him when they arrive. “I’ve never been, it’s boring to go to these kinds of places without a friend, but my roommates have gone with their teams a few times so it comes highly recommended.”

The idle chatter has quieted some, moreso after Sakamoto gets them a table and they place their meat orders. Goro falls into old habit, placing the meat on the hot grill and watching it carefully cook as Sakamoto stops speaking entirely. The people talking around them is a stark contrast to the silence sitting over the sizzling grill, and Sakamoto looks far away.

The meat browns and Goro flips it a few times to ensure even cooking. “Sakamoto, hand me your plate.” Goro looks over to him and watches as Sakamoto brings himself back to the present, scrunching his eyes closed with enough force to make his nose wrinkle. He looks at Goro with more clarity, but does not move. “Your plate,” Goro repeats.

Sakamoto scrambles to hand Goro his plate and Goro watches him as he divvies the food between them. Sakamoto stares at nothing, not following Goro’s movement even as he returns the plate and watches Sakamoto dig in.

Goro takes a few bites, chewing carefully and savoring the rich food. Old pangs from an old life hit him when he swallows, and he remembers similar foods at ostentatious media appearances, daintily sampled for the show of it rather than enjoyment.

His eyes flick back up to Sakamoto who appears to be eating on auto-pilot. “You’re not usually this quiet,” he forms his words around bitter anger that sits in the ridges of his teeth. “Don’t misunderstand, it’s quite refreshing, but I also can’t help but be perturbed.” He wants Sakamoto to slip in his own quiet, to give Goro a reason to stop this charade of camaraderie with fragrant cooking meat between them and the quasi-privacy of facing each other in a high-backed booth.

Sakamoto looks at him, a touch more focused, “Sorry, dude, I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

It doesn’t seem like enough of an excuse to explain Sakamoto’s behavior, but Goro shrugs it off and puts more meat on the grill to cook. The bags under Sakamoto’s eyes are no more pronounced than they have been through the week, and Goro wonders to himself, chewing slowly on salty pork belly, if Sakamoto is using lack of sleep to mean something else. Guilt, perhaps, at hiding Goro’s existence, or even guilt because he has told the rest of the Phantom Thieves yet accepts the food Goro gives him and pushes for more interaction.

Goro always circles back to that thought, that it’s already too late, that his hiding is useless and all that he’s gone through and run from won’t matter because one foul-mouthed bottle blond decided to play hero. Not that it would matter anyway because he has nowhere to go.

Sakamoto is looking towards him but not at him, eating mechanically, lost in thought. Goro watches him swish water around in his mouth before clearing his throat, “Now you’re staring at me,” he says offhandedly, flipping more meat on the grill. He watches the meat for a moment before he flicks his gaze back to Sakamoto, just in time for Sakamoto to pointedly avert his gaze.

“Sorry, I’m trying really hard to stay focused,” Sakamoto says, still looking down at the grill, “You’re the most interesting thing in here.” His tone stays even and Goro falters.

His eyes are hard on Sakamoto, unable to discern the intent behind the words. There was nothing barbed, certainly, but Goro is sure that it was not complimentary, either. Sakamoto looks back to him and Goro finds himself annoyed at how well Sakamoto plays the Good Guy. He rolls his eyes at the thought.

“You’re truly off your game today,” Goro tells him lightly. He holds up a thin piece of beef to check the color before flipping it back onto the grill. “That almost sounded sincere.” He bites his words through the sizzle of the food.

Sakamoto has the gall to shrug, “It was.”

Goro hums, unable to decide if he wishes Sakamoto were a better liar or a worse one. He tosses meat onto Sakamoto’s plate impatiently, not waiting for him to hand it over. “If you are so under the weather, you could have cancelled you realize. I certainly wouldn’t have minded.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you wouldn’t have.” Sakamoto’s snark surprises him and Goro feels something slip. “Nah, I made you a promise, I wanted to keep it.”

There is so much nonchalance in how Sakamoto holds his words and shows his promises, regardless of the severity, Goro is left watching him as he shovels food into his mouth. It’s almost funny how easily Sakamoto can disarm him when he had spent so much of his life building up defenses, how quickly he can get Goro to agree to such frivolity despite the anxiety chained to such agreements.

Goro hadn’t tried to avoid, he hadn’t dug his heels into the ground; he had made a half-assed attempt to run and when he was unsuccessful he made no additional attempts to fight. For all Sakamoto has shown him, if Goro were simply to decline in earnest Sakamoto would cease his efforts. But while Goro has given him pushback, he’s still allowed himself to get tugged along at Sakamoto’s speed.

“Well,” Goro starts when Sakamoto has finished chewing, “I had better take responsibility as ‘the most interesting thing in here.’ What’s bothering you?”

Sakamoto takes another huge bite and shakes his head. “You don’t gotta worry about it,” he says through a full mouth.

“Unfortunately for you, you’ve just confirmed that something is indeed afoot, and I’m nosy. I won’t stop pestering you until you spill.” Teasing is the easiest form of interrogation and Goro needs to know if he should be as immediately concerned as he was about his current situation.

Sakamoto groans and Goro sees the press of anxiety on his features, “I- I keep having dreams, okay? But they’re like memories? Sort of. It’s always highschool, just small things that could have happened, or probably did happen, you know? It’s never,” he pauses through his uncertain and stuttered explanation, “distressing scenes or anything. But it feels weird? Being there, in that time I guess. For whatever reason. I mean, I am older, but-”

So Goro was right, it was something like guilt causing Sakamoto’s current state, “Well that’s precisely it,” he interrupts. “That’s not who you are anymore.”

“It’s not like it was that long ago?” Sakamoto furrows his brow.

“No, but this is the pivotal time of change. This is the transition to adulthood, and it’s something you have to do on your own.” There’s no reason to lament the past, or to miss it, or to wish to change it. Reliving memories does little but dull the present and clinging to it and other people that shaped that past only serve to slow down growth.

Sakamoto looks like he disagrees and Goro elaborates, “It’s a stressful thing to contend with. Your mind is trying to process it and comfort you simultaneously, which might be why you’re having these dreams. You miss your friends, your old life, and you’re distressed because you are ever moving further away from them.” Goro puts the last order of meat on to cook.

“So, you run into someone from that period of your life, coincidentally, and despite how little you two got along previously, you decide to cling to him like a beacon. You bribe him with food to keep him around, all so you can feel like you haven’t lost that part of yourself.” He makes eye contact with Sakamoto. It’s easy to see the weakness in that moment, the way Sakamoto holds himself tense against the chill in Goro’s words, how being a Hero made him so unwilling to move forward.

“But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make you feel better to be around me, does it? Because I don’t care about playing nice, I don’t care about making friends.” I shouldn’t be cared about. Goro bites his tongue and tastes iron.

“That’s for damn sure, don’t let the meat burn.” And it feels enough like an answer to Goro’s unspoken thoughts that he smiles tight lipped through the steam as he methodically turns the rest of the meat.

“I don’t have to repay you for the food,” Sakamoto continues after a moment, “I just do it because I’m a decent person, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, right?”

This is what Goro had been expecting since he had seen Sakamoto in the diner that first night, the vitriol and detestation, the true feelings he knew were harbored. Sakamoto had told him they had mourned, that Goro’s death had been a loss. The only loss they suffered was the loss of Goro’s retribution, because death was too soft a punishment for all he had done. Sakamoto is right, for all Goro’s posturing, the only decency he had ever shown was ridding the world of an unwanted nuisance and he hadn’t even accomplished that.

Goro had thought hearing Sakamoto admit how poorly he thought of him would be a relief, but as he puts the rest of the food on his plate, he finds his appetite lacking.

Tension is thick and heavy between them until the bill is dropped off at the corner of the table.

Sakamoto goes a little pale as he looks over the check.

“Whatever is the matter?” Goro asks too joyfully. His hands are folded placidly in front of himself and Sakamoto shakes when he puts down his card.

“Nothing, everything’s fine,” he says, strained. “Um, we may have to wait a while before we go out to eat again.”

“Darn,” Goro answers sardonically, fast enough to hide the surprise that Sakamoto would even think about wanting to spend more time with Goro. He had said it so casually, so naturally, like him confessing that he thinks Goro is a bad person would not be a deterrent for them to spend more time together. In knowing Sakamoto, Goro is sure that he does not mean it any other way. For most, such a simple excuse would be used to politely decline future outings indefinitely, but in the way Sakamoto had presented it, it’s very much just a monetary issue and not the issue of present company.

“You brought this on yourself.” Sakamoto glares at him, “Quit buyin’ me food and I’ll quit buyin’ you food.” He says it like there are no other problems, like the tension didn’t exist, that the words said in anger were nothing but hot air and just as meaningless.

“Start going to a different diner, then.” Goro retorts.

Sakamoto groans, long suffering, “Do you gotta be this spiteful?” Goro presses his lips together in a thin line and Sakamoto gives him a mocking mimicry from across the table. “Have I called you an asshole today?”

Goro goes to answer but he can see the waitress returning with the check who, judging by the look on her face, had heard Sakamoto’s side of the altercation. She returns Sakamoto’s card hesitantly and Goro can feel exactly how smug his smirk is as Sakamoto flushes in mortification.

“Not today, you haven’t.” Goro answers when the waitress leaves.

“Asshole,” Sakamoto says pointedly. “Whatever, let’s just get out of here.”

“Gladly,” Goro agrees and follows Sakamoto out of the shop and into the humid night air. He’s quick to tap out and light a cigarette, and the first drag soothes in burning familiarity. He can see Sakamoto visibly relax now that they’re outside and looks away when he reaches his arms above his head to stretch.

Goro leans against a telephone pole and takes another drag.

“When did this start going on?” Sakamoto gestures to the cigarette, but his eyes wander over Goro like he’s trying to parse some truth about him. Goro catches his eye and thinks that Sakamoto wouldn’t ever find what he was looking for.

He holds out the cigarette, “If you smoke it, I’ll tell you.”

The effect is immediate and predictable. Sakamoto wrinkles his nose and declines, following with a childish, “You shouldn’t peer pressure.” Goro can’t help the low laugh and takes another long drag. “Had to be pretty recent, anyway. You’re twenty this year.”

“Perceptive,” unexpected that he would retain that information from the google search he undoubtedly did on Himura Koji. “Except, you must consider the quality of life in the area I live in. That they might have more pressing issues than who can legally buy tobacco or not.”

“Oh,” Sakamoto’s dejection is palpable. Had Goro not known him better, he would have assumed it was because Goro had offered a counter argument that nullified all of Sakamoto’s previous points. It was far more likely, however, that Sakamoto had not considered Goro’s quality of life at present and such a blunt reminder had repressed argument in favor of sympathy.

Lightness expands inexplicably in Goro’s chest and he laughs with it. Sakamoto looks forlorn, with his pout and slouched shoulders; Goro taps ash off his cigarette.

“A couple of months ago,” He says finally. Sakamoto looks at him but says nothing. “At my last job. A customer left it behind.” Last job last apartment last street corner. A bar in a worse ward, men that couldn’t hold their liquor or their tongues, a slob passed out over the table with a pack of cigarettes and a wallet barely contained in his pants pocket. Goro had managed to get a little cash and the rest of the carton before the owner caught him and he was jobless again.

“You’re almost out. Is that the same pack?” Sakamoto asks such easy questions that Goro keeps thinking that he’s setting a trap.

Goro rubs his thumb over the red packaging, listening to it crinkle as he works not to crush it under the weight of the agitation he carries, and he regards Sakamoto with a critical eye. “It is. I’m still debating whether to continue or quit when my birthday comes around.”

“So you’re nineteen?” Verbal repartee with Sakamoto is like playing chess with a four year old. “When’s your birthday?” He’s always direct, even as he tries to lead Goro to give real answers. Even as Goro allows himself to be lead dangerously close to full truths instead of carefully twisted ones.

He takes another drag before putting out his cigarette against the bottom of his shoe and puts the carton back into his pocket. “Good night, Sakamoto. I hope I made your night interesting enough for you.” Goro doesn’t leave immediately. Sakamoto holds himself like there are words stuck in his mouth and it makes Goro hesitate.

“I know you’re being mean,” Sakamoto starts again and Goro wants to scoff at the childish verbiage, “but you did help in a really weird way. The beginning of the school year was pretty crazy, so I didn’t have time to process everything. Now things have calmed down, I’ve got a routine, so yeah, I’ve got more time to think. A lot of time, lately. I haven’t been getting out of the house much to be honest. It was like I spent all of my energy in the first few weeks and was in a long ass state of recovery.

“So I appreciate you coming out with me tonight. Getting me to go someplace new, out of my room where I was just thinking about everything I told you before nonstop. And I think you are actually on to something- that I’m missing my friends and my old life- but I’m also excited for what’s coming next. Like you said, adulthood is just around the corner.”

A declaration of gratitude was the last thing Goro had been expecting and he feels like he’s treading water that only continues to get deeper. “Well, then you’re welcome for the insight and change of pace.”

“But I think you’re wrong about one thing. That you gotta grow up on your own? Being an adult means knowing that it’s okay to ask for help when you need it.” Sakamoto says with confidence that belies experience.

The space between them becomes more noticeable to Goro, a yawning chasm separating starkly different lives. He wants to outright disagree and the words feel urgent against his throat. No one can be wholly relied on, no one can be wholly trusted, help is not a given it’s a bartering chip and Goro turns away from Sakamoto at the thought.

He opens his mouth to say goodbye with full intention of actually making his leave when thunder cuts through his words and a sudden downpour roars through the streets. Goro laughs, more than a little incredulous, staying safe under the awning of the shop.

“You don’t have an umbrella,” Sakamoto states.

Goro responds with arms outstretched showing he has hardly anything at all. “I don’t have an umbrella.”

He watches Sakamoto root around in his backpack and pull one out. He opens it and steps into the rain, looking back at Goro expectantly. It’s barely big enough to cover Sakamoto, let alone the two of them, but Goro doesn’t think Sakamoto has any intention of moving until Goro joins him under the umbrella.

Goro breathes a long suffering sigh and joins him. Sakamoto is careful to angle his body to allow both of them full coverage, but it causes him to awkwardly waddle alongside Goro’s sure strides as they head towards Goro’s apartment. It’s muggy for May, an indication of the impending summer made more acute every time their shoulders bump.

The rain is a roar around them with few other pedestrians to share the walkway with. Goro keeps his pace brisk, eager to return home, eager to shed this night and its ever-shifting moods and the anger he can’t seem to keep hot in his veins.

They step over a puddle and Goro can see Sakamoto wince as his foot lands heavy and precedes a poorly hidden limp. Goro realizes abruptly how quickly he had been walking and remembers Sakamoto’s explanation, or lack thereof, of his sports injury.

He contemplates not stopping and letting Sakamoto limp beside him like a wounded animal. Let it be proof that all of Sakamoto’s assertions that people change are baseless. That the unflinching forward march of time does not create space between then and now, that it is not a range of controlled burning, that there is not new growth to raise out of the ashes, that Goro is not a phoenix reborn in the dying embers of a past he regrets.

He stops for Sakamoto, and levels him with a blank stare in response to his protestations. Sakamoto massages at his leg for a moment and Goro extends a hand in offer to take the umbrella. Sakamoto looks at him, perplexed, but hands over the umbrella with a grateful nod. It burns in Goro’s hand as he watches Sakamoto work out the soreness.

The assertion that Goro is only as good as he’s ever been sits sour in his mouth even as he waits patiently for Sakamoto. The rain is loud around them, and when Sakamoto finally signals to move forward, Goro does so without another word. He keeps a white-knuckled grip on the umbrella handle and ignores Sakamoto’s eyes on him when he motions to take the umbrella back. It’s easier to keep walking, to keep his gaze forward, even when Sakamoto makes a clumsy movement to wrap his thumbs in his backpack straps in lieu of the umbrella.

Goro’s apartment complex rises to meet them, the steps dark and sodden. He hands the umbrella back and when their fingers brush, it feels like a shock against his knuckles. Words that he had swallowed down now press against his clenched teeth.

He moves to step into his building, then stops and turns abruptly. Sakamoto is close enough to him that Goro thinks he can feel the heat of him, and Sakamoto staggers back in surprise only to right himself and maintain their proximity. Words chip at his teeth, prick at his tongue, his mouth tastes like iron and the heat from Sakamoto feels stifling with the rain pouring down around them.

“Everyone I’ve ever turned to for help has used others for their own personal gain.” The words are acerbic, caustic, bitter and angry vitriol that bubble up like bile, brought to a simmer from one dinner with a person with too much optimism. “I have no respect for them, never did, and I certainly don’t subscribe to that way of being. I’ll find dignity in my own way.”

The uncertain and ever-shifting feelings coalesce into something Goro can identify. He feels like a charity case, something pitiable, something detestable that can only be looked upon through the lense of ill-given philanthropy.

“What about Prosecutor Niijima?” Sakamoto’s earnestness is grating.

“Niijima was going to use you Phantom Thieves to earn herself a promotion and was planning on arresting you using whatever means necessary.” He can’t muster the snide arrogance he wants to portray, “She did not abide to any rightful sense of justice.”

“She learned from her mistakes!” Sakamoto’s voice carries through the rain and Goro feels like an ignored whisper.

“I can’t attest to that. All I know is that the precinct was full of officers just like her. They didn’t care about anyone’s well-being, only themselves.” Niijima had been on their side at the end, had figured out where she should be and what she should do. Who she should help. It left Goro with an acute sense of loss.

Sakamoto shakes his head, “I just think that going through life on your own the way you’re saying might not be the answer either. That just sounds like a different form of selfishness- like you won’t let people care about you when that’s not your decision to make.”

Goro wants to shout that there was no one to care, that there was no one around for him to be selfish, that help was not offered but bargained. He wants to show Sakamoto how he keeps dealing in false equivalencies that only prove how little worth Goro holds to other people. He doesn’t. Swallowing those words feels like swallowing bleach. “Funny of you to talk about agency in regards to emotions when the Phantom Thieves didn’t allow their victims the same courtesy.”

“That’s not true.” Sakamoto’s anger is a balm.

Goro sneers, “You lobotomized people.”

“Yeah, what the hell did you do?” Thunder booms far away. “We stopped a ton of bad people when no one else was gonna do shit about them. You…” Sakamoto waves his hand and something like fear leaps into Goro’s throat. This is what he had been expecting; he had been waiting for Sakamoto’s real feelings on the matter, the hatred that he undoubtedly harbored, for his true intentions to show.

“I what?” He can feel aggression pull at the corner of his snarl, “What did I do?” He pushes. He wants Sakamoto’s honesty so he can leave and not look back, “Ensure that terrible people wouldn’t do terrible things ever again, same as you lot?” Let Sakamoto feel the weight of what the Phantom Thieves had done, let him hold the guilt that Goro does daily.

“They didn’t deserve that,” Sakamoto growls at him and his glare is damning.

Lighting flashes blinding and thunder claps loud making both of them flinch despite themselves. The roar of the rain fills the ensuing silence.

The look Sakamoto gives Goro is the same kind of incriminating as he sees in the mirror and he forces himself to look away. Sakamoto is fuming, breathing hard and radiating the kind of maliciousness that Goro had anticipated on their first encounter at the diner.

“I did deplorable things,” an admission said quietly into the noise of the rain, “I was always aware of that, but I hardly think you should hold your group so highly for what you did.” Justice is wholly imperfect.

“We weren’t far off from your boat.” The fight has left Sakamoto’s voice, “We could’ve just as easily been you. Let the anger consume us, fight violence with violence. But we have to be better. We have to choose to be different and better than them. That’s how we fight back.”

Something snaps thin and delicate in Goro. A hairline fracture. He had never been on the opposing side; all of his success was the carefully crafted deposition from within, tugging at supporting strings until everything fell apart even though it also fell on him. “I don’t know if I can.”

Goro looks at him and how Sakamoto opens up, how tension gets washed away by rain, “Ask me for help.”

He makes it sound easy. Like Goro hasn’t been running his entire life because he can’t, he can’t. Asking for help is vulnerability, it’s a mistake, it’s giving too much ammunition with nothing in return. He can only rely on himself, only trust himself, asking for help is admission of inadequacy and is no better than a death sentence because Goro is only as good as what he can be used for.

Sakamoto smiles at him and cants his head to catch Goro’s eyes. Lightning flashes in the distance and Goro is struck with how poor a liar Sakamoto is. How he does not seem to be lying now. How infrequently Goro believes sentiments of sincerity.

“I hope you like a challenge.” He doesn’t look back at Sakamoto as he turns to enter his building. He doesn’t want to see his expression or the dark rain surrounding him or how his smile grew in the low light.

The door shuts behind him, a resounding click echoing in the empty foyer, and Goro trudges up the flights of stairs on autopilot. It is not very late in the evening but the apartment complex is unnervingly silent. The sounds he has grown accustomed to since moving in, the errant bump, childrens’ voices raised high and shrill, signs of life behind the neat soldier rows of doors to the other apartments, are quieted.

The last time he had asked for help, he thinks as he opens the door to his dark apartment, was from a man that held his life as irreverently as a child with an unliked toy. A tool meant to be disposed of. Weaponized fodder.

He slams his apartment door too hard behind him and is left alone in the dark of his apartment. Rain taps lightly at his window. Thunder rumbles far away.

* * *

He wakes late the next day, groggy from sleeping too heavily. His head is pounding as he gets ready for his shift and dread pools angry in the pit of his stomach. Goro feels rubbed raw, flayed open and scored, like someone tried to scrub away all the pitch and refuse and filth that he had built himself into.

_Ask me for help. You’re more than special._

Maybe he had been.

He runs his head under cold water before he leaves for the diner and bile keeps rising in his throat. He holds crescent moon indents in his palm. Tension wraps around him in a suffocating swaddle.

He can’t remember walking to the diner, or how the early-May sun beat down on him or the noise of so many lives moving around him. Goro can’t seem to catch his breath, can do little more than pathetic shallow inhales that leave him lightheaded and dizzy. His limbs feel like lead, heavy and clumsy.

His smiles at Auntie feel wooden, but she accepts them with little comment, brushing a hand across his shoulder as he begins his shift and moves from table to table. Minutes tick by in agonizing slowness but the diner seems frenzied around him, so many forgettable faces Goro’s head whips toward the door every time it opens and can’t decide if it's a relief when it’s not Sakamoto that steps in.

Maya-chan looks like she wants to ask him about his odd behaviors and Goro avoids her questioning gaze. He falls into the unsteady rhythm of greeting and taking orders and checking for Sakamoto and ringing people out, carefully skirting around Auntie and Maya-chan and patrons alike.

His first break comes late in the day, later than Sakamoto would normally arrive, and it grates on his skin. Goro forgoes his employee meal in favor of smoking around back, letting each slow drag fill his lungs more than he’d been able to breathe all day. It burns and he chokes on a cough as smoke filters from between his teeth.

“Is everything alright, Koji-kun?” Auntie’s voice surprises him and he almost drops his cigarette. She looks at him from the backdoorway, arms crossed and evidently knowing that he is far from okay.

“Of course, Auntie,” he says automatically. He ashes his cigarette anxiously, “I’m just afraid I did not sleep very well because of the storm last night. I am an unfortunately light sleeper, but I’ll be sure not to let it continue to interfere with my work. A break was all I needed.”

She knows Goro is lying. He can see it in the set of her jaw and how she cocks her hip against the door frame. She merely hums, “I see. Well, make sure you eat something, you need your strength after all.”

Auntie returns inside before Goro can answer and something in him twists tighter. He finishes his cigarette in an attempt to alleviate the feeling but it only serves to make him nauseous.

Nearing the end of Goro’s shift, Sakamoto still has not shown. Most of the tables have already been cleared and cleaned, and the only patrons left are college students barely staying awake over their coffees. Goro sweeps around the main counter methodically. His grip on the broom handle is white knuckled.

Auntie leans over the counter, watching him carefully, before tutting. He finishes sweeping and turns to face her.

“Is something the matter, Auntie?” He cleans the dust pan and replaces the broom behind the counter.

She grips his cheek in mock scolding. “You did not listen to me, Koji-kun.”

“I’m sorry?” Goro’s words are distorted as she lightly pulls him towards a stool.

He sits heavily and she dashes away only to quickly return with a carefully cut sandwich laden with obvious extra portions. She pushes the plate toward him and puts a hand on her hip. “You did not eat today.”

“Oh,” Goro pauses, “I suppose I did not. We were quite busy today it must have slipped my mind-”

“Eat.” Auntie pushes the plate closer to him and leaves to continue cleaning the diner for closing.

Goro stares at the plate, an unnamed feeling displaces the nausea that has sat heavy with him for most of the day. He eats slowly, small bites that he chews into nothing, feeling Auntie’s eyes on him while she flits about the diner fulfilling orders and cleaning alike.

Sakamoto had not been there today, despite having been to the diner daily in the prior week, despite how fervent his words were last night. Goro had warned him, albeit in few words, how difficult pursuing a friendship with him would be; he had shown Sakamoto peeks of the volatile headspace Goro held through their dinner and the ensuing argument.

Maybe how the night had ended had been enough to finally convince Sakamoto that his endeavors were wasted on someone like Goro. Sakamoto had implored him, had pushed him to anger and back again, had squeezed out anxieties so that they could lie in the fissures of his faults. Goro had warned him and maybe Sakamoto had finally seen the danger. Determined Goro wasn’t worth the effort he self-professed.

He couldn’t finish the sandwich. Couldn’t stomach inexplicable and sudden disappointment. Friendship was a ridiculous notion, especially with someone like Sakamoto, who knew exactly what Goro had done and knew exactly how undeserving of sympathy and pity and forgiveness he was. Goro had known that, had tried to stop Sakamoto’s efforts and looked forward to the end of their cyclical repayments.

Why hadn’t Sakamoto come to the diner?

“Thank you for the food, Auntie,” Goro tells her as she makes her rounds.

She smiles at him, “Of course, you need to make sure you eat, you kids these days don’t eat enough. Let me wrap that up so you can have more later.” She takes his plate amidst Goro’s polite protestations.

She returns with a to-go box carefully taped shut. “You’re also free to go, if you wish. It was slow enough tonight, and someone should be able to enjoy that.”

“Auntie, I couldn’t, not when you and Maya-chan work so hard.” Goro can’t tell if he’s refusing because he’s supposed to or because the idea of being alone in his dark apartment makes him clench his teeth.

“Nonsense, go, clock out, enjoy your night! You’re a young man, you should be able to enjoy that youth.” She winks at him. “And don’t you worry about Maya-chan, especially since I sent her home hours ago.”

Goro is mortified that he did not notice but says nothing, ducking his head and thanking Auntie for her generosity. She waves him off, tells him to clock out again, and heads back to work.

When Goro picks up the to-go container, he finds that Auntie packed an entire additional sandwich.

The next day is much the same, the ebb and flow of meal time rushes and still no Sakamoto. The day after follows suit, as does the day after that.

The tension Goro carries slowly lessens. Sakamoto has gone several days without visiting the diner before, and there are a number of reasons for that, Goro surmises. His initial reaction was was extreme and unnecessary, and he has enough rationale to recognize that Sakamoto is a busy college student with a fluctuating schedule and other obligations.

Goro is not an obligation at all and it was ludicrous for him to put himself at that level.

“You seem better,” Auntie tells him on his break, leaning against the building while Goro contemplates whether he wants a cigarette or not.

“Oh? I was unaware I was unwell.” Goro decides against smoking, taking a deep inhale and enjoying the warmer weather.

Auntie rolls her eyes, nonplussed. “Let me know what you want for your employee meal,” she says instead and heads back inside.

Goro runs a hand through his hair, listening to faraway cars and farther away voices, the hum of the small city settling in his bones. He returns to work during the dinner rush, and tells Auntie he wants omurice when she has the chance.

She calls him cheeky and hip checks him.

He reminds himself of his importance in other people’s lives.

Several days pass with no Sakamoto and Goro asks for more shifts, trying to fill up his days to make the nights shorter.

Auntie tells him she’s concerned for his social life, “A handsome man like you should be at mixers, not spending all his time with an admittedly youthful auntie such as myself.”

Goro chuckles behind his hand, “I need money for such a social life, Auntie, and while you pay me well, I must also work hard.”

“What good is your money if you have no time?” She points an accusatory finger at him but says no more on the matter. The schedule in the back room fills up with his name and his hours fill with work at the diner. His knees ache at the end of the day and he sleeps too heavily to dream. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to accomplish at this point, or what he’s running from anymore. He lingers at the diner before and after his shift because there is nowhere else to be.

Goro got what he wanted and he didn’t need Sakamoto’s help after all. Auntie provides him more complimentary meals and he stops looking at the door every time someone enters the diner.

Weeks pass and he thinks this must be stasis. Progress? The anxiety that had clawed at his throat since Sakamoto’s appearance has abated and the threat of Phantom Thieves no longer sits in the shadowy corners of dark alleyways. Sakamoto stops being an ever present concern and slowly shifts to the back of his mind.

His existence is a shambling thing, filled with false starts and slow progress and greyed with decayed ambition. It’s easy to see why Sakamoto would have decided to decrease his interaction, offered his help then swiftly refused to show his face. Classes are an easy distraction, people within his classes more so with infinitely less baggage than Goro carries.

Plus the Phantom Thieves, Goro thinks. He had compartmentalized them as a single entity, but they were Sakamoto’s friends, too, weren’t they? Undoubtedly close, unified in risking their lives for each other, understanding their shared experiences and understanding what wasn’t shared as well. Sakamoto had an entire life plus some outside of what little time he spent with Goro and as the weeks dull his apprehension he recognizes his overreaction with visceral shame.

“You seem lighter these days, Koji-kun,” Auntie tells him over his meal. The diner is slow, and they both take the opportunity to breathe easy. She organizes cups and cutlery while he takes measured bites of his sandwich cut into careful triangles.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Auntie,” he sips at his water and avoids her gaze.

She waves her hand, “You would walk around here so stiff, like a rabbit ready to bolt, and now,” she gestures at him, “you look more at ease. Like you’ve settled in. It’s good to see you more comfortable.”

Goro isn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t thought he came across so tense, and certainly had not thought that Auntie was paying so much attention. “Ah,” he says at last, “I see.”

Auntie laughs at him and he can feel his face grow hot. “No need to be so formal! I just knew that Sakamoto boy would be good for you.” She looks at him smug.

“Perhaps,” he agrees and takes another measured sip of water. “Speaking of, it’s been some time since he’s stepped into the diner.” Goro says, careful to sound apathetic to the situation- an objective observation. He’s not sure he succeeds, but it doesn’t burn like a bad lie.

“Yeah,” Auntie hums, “it’s not uncommon for Sakamoto-kun to go times without visiting. He’s a busy college student, you know. I’m sure he’ll pop back in soon.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting in bringing it up. He had figured as much, had resigned himself to such a reality, but Auntie’s words are still a reassurance. Weeks away was a standard, an expectation. Not his fault.

Goro looks up at Auntie and finds her smiling at him like she knows. “Is that so? I hope he is doing well in his studies.” She hums while he clears his plate and wipes down his area and he can feel her gaze on him as he retreats to the kitchen to deposit his dishes.

It’s enough for him to see Sakamoto enter the diner after a couple weeks and not have immediate and debilitating fear press the points of his ribs into his lungs. He works like he has been as his shift nears its end, watches Sakamoto smile easy to Auntie and resume work on his computer.

He’s preparing the last of his own dishes when Auntie sidles up to him, waiting for the coffee machine to be free. “See? I told you Sakamoto would be in soon.” She bumps him with her hip. “Oh, but I will say, just in case, if you ring Sakamoto out, don’t include the Picture Perfect in the price, poor boy looks like he could use a break.” Goro remembers Sakamoto’s face after their meal and feels a prick of guilt.

“You’re too kind, Auntie, but aren’t you the one that keeps telling me not to give my employee meal away?” She thwaps him with a smile on his face and starts preparing the coffee.

“Speak to Auntie with respect!” She tells him, topping of Sakamoto’s drink with a tower of whip cream.

“Of course, Auntie, always.”

Sakamoto drinks his coffee slowly, and each time Goro passes, he can see frustration heavy on Sakamoto’s shoulders. His fingers stall on computer keys and a near empty document sits with a blinking cursor accusatorily.

Sakamoto is still slowly nursing his coffee by the time Goro’s shift is over, and Goro can see how empty the page still is when he passes to head into the back room.

Goro removes his apron and takes his hair down from his ponytail. Sakamoto had not noticed him his entire shift, focused as he was on whatever project was giving him trouble. He breathes deeply, contemplates smoking before heading home, contemplates heading home without speaking to Sakamoto at all. He brushes his hair out to ease the tension of having it pulled back for so long when Auntie finds him in the back.

“You didn’t have your meal today.” Auntie blocks the doorway. “Go sit at the bar, I’ll have something made for you.” She does not leave room nor time for argument, turning briskly towards the kitchen.

Goro knows better than to ignore her and heads towards the bar. Sakamoto is slumped in defeat and Goro can see where coherent thought gives way to a mash of characters on the open window of his computer. Goro wrings his hands, a flare of annoyance and anger rising unbidden.

He can see that Sakamoto is working on what looks like a resumé outline and the barb is hooked on his tongue. “I see you weren’t kidding about not having sufficient funds.” Nothing has changed. He still could have come around, Goro thinks suddenly, after all of that posturing about help and being better and growth.

Sakamoto jumps at Goro’s voice and it’s almost satisfying. He’s quick to swivel around but surprise gives way almost immediately to tired annoyance. “Do you mind?” Goro thinks those words shouldn’t sting as much as they do, especially after a few weeks, especially after Goro had come to the conclusion that what Sakamoto said in the rain was little more than platitudes. Sakamoto closes his laptop and turns it away from Goro.

Goro sits a seat away in response. His pride is damning. He’s already approached so there’s no way he can just turn and leave, but he refuses to sit next to Sakamoto like they are something so asinine as friends.

There’s a brief pause before Sakamoto continues with, “Working today?” The abrupt shift pulls at Goro.

“We’re not hiring,” he sneers. This interaction feels familiar, better, scrapes away what amicable detritus had lingered since their conversation in the rain but it leaves Goro feeling worse.

Auntie slips behind the bar, “Don’t tell people that!” She hands Ryuji another picture perfect coffee and waves away his concerns.

“My sincerest apologies, Sakamoto-san,” Goro smiles closed lipped and closed eyes and cloyingly sweet, more worried about the towel Auntie throws over her shoulder in warning.

Sakamoto makes a gagging sound and Goro clenches his teeth.

“There are other able-bodied college kids loitering around, you know. We’re always hiring.” Auntie continues.

“It’s okay, Auntie, I’m not cut out for food service.” Sakamoto says. Goro watches the way his face crumples like the idea of it is repulsive.

“Oh, I know.” She winks at him and when Goro expects him to have an indignant outburst, he instead sheepishly rubs at the back of his head.

“I have no idea what I’m cut out for, actually,” he mumbles, looking down like the words weren’t meant for anyone. Goro can’t help but watch him, the tired annoyance feathering into just tired, keeping his eyes on his coffee. He sits with his shoulders at his ears and the muscle in his jaw flexing on impulse, pulling at the tendons in his neck from relaxed to sharp relief and back again.

Nothing has changed, but Goro’s gut keeps twisting. Ask me for help- Sakamoto can’t take his own advice, “Resumés are easy.” Goro says. Because they are. He brushes a hand through his hair again. “You just present yourself in a way that employers will like.” He looks away. “Fib a little, focus on what you can do for them,” because employers don’t care about people, but commodities, tools and their usefulness. He can’t bring himself to say the truth of it.

“Gross,” Sakamoto wrinkles his nose.

Goro huffs but refuses to call it amusement, “Yeah,” he looks at Sakamoto who still has not broken his gaze with his coffee. He thinks of kept promises for no reward, of earnestness and painfully blatant honesty and- “I could help you with yours. If you like.”

Sakamoto’s shock matches Goro’s own and he quickly schools his features. Anger bursts like insignificant jumping sparks, small thoughts that press at him recurring and cyclical, all the injustice at war with the words that Sakamoto has pressed into him in earnest, honesty that he keeps and promises he doesn’t mean to make.

Sakamoto makes a face Goro doesn’t know how to parse, “No, that’s okay. Don’t wanna interrupt your down time before your shift.”

Goro does not feel like correcting him. The declined offer was odd enough with how Sakamoto had struggled, letting him know that he had already worked a full shift seemed counterintuitive to having Sakamoto accept his proffered help, and old stubbornness has Goro refusing to back down. “What else am I going to do?” He shrugs.

Auntie drops by Goro’s meal and he smiles at her in thanks. Her smile in return seems loaded as she looks between the two but he chooses to ignore it, instead focusing back to Sakamoto expectantly.

Goro wraps himself in nonchalance. He can feel Sakamoto’s eyes on him, the back of his neck tingles with it.

“I’d appreciate the help.” Sakamoto says finally. He stands and surveys the diner for available tables, “Wanna move?” He smiles at Goro and Goro thinks he hates it, or that he should, that he should feel some sort of animosity for-

Sakamoto helping? Sakamoto forcing friendship? Sakamoto appearing after weeks but picking up where they left off like nothing happened in the first place?

His tongue feels leaden, heavy and gummed up and clumsy, so Goro just nods in response. He catches Auntie’s attention as she putters a little down the line of the bar and gestures to where they’re moving. He makes sure that it’s within her table section, not wanting to upset what had already been assigned.

They settle at a table towards the back and Sakamoto places the relic of his laptop between them. Sakamoto looks nervous in a way Goro is not accustomed to, his shoulders rigid and hiked, the furrow of his brow deep and pronounced. Goro doesn’t know if it’s because of standard job-search-stressors, of which he is intimately familiar, or because it’s Goro sitting across from him.

Goro picks up a french fry and studies it instead. “First off, it sounds like you need a place to start, like a job to apply to. Am I right?”

“Yeah, uh, anything my dorm mates suggest doesn’t seem to be a good fit.” Sakamoto draws his words out slowly, dripping molasses with the aftertaste of self deprecation. Goro looks over him trying to parse which places of employment would be suggested but ultimately a bad idea.

Business professional places would be out, towering and dreary office buildings that would turn up their noses at his blond hair and slouched posture, places that would require some sort of degree, especially considering Sakamoto is still actively working at it. Beyond that, he can’t place exactly what would qualify as a bad fit for someone like Sakamoto. He’s already confirmed he wouldn’t be comfortable in food service, but anything else seems like it would be natural for him. “Like what?” He asks, “Customer service?”

Sakamoto nods to Goro’s surprise. He had expected some lacking confidence, but not to this degree. “I’m too-” he pauses and looks down on himself, “-me.”

Goro swallows a laugh, incredulous. He covers his mouth like he’s hiding his chewing but there’s still something that bubble pop bursts out of him. He thinks about Sakamoto’s easy smiles, his friendly demeanor, how he charms without meaning to and how easy that would be to translate into something with customer service. And then he thinks again about how his scowl curls and how his roots grow out and his inability to use a belt.

“I suppose that might be a problem for certain places, but not all. Have you thought about one of those punk clothing stores? You might have to wear eyeliner, but I think you could do well there.” Goro is smiling in spite of himself, ignoring weeks of doubt only for Sakamoto to look at him blankly.

“No.” He deadpans.

Goro covers his mouth to try and stop the laughter that punches out of him. He can feel Sakamoto’s eyes on him and it makes him laugh harder, “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, “I keep picturing how that would look. You with heavy, dramatic makeup, wearing god knows what.” He thinks along the lines of KISS with makeup that’s more facepaint and clothing made more of spikes than fabric.

“You don’t know,” Sakamoto huffs, defensive, “maybe I’d look hot!”

So Goro thinks on that, in the moment amidst his laughter and his anger and Sakamoto’s pout. Instead of something like a costume, he thinks of something more fashionable, similar to what Sakamoto already wears but more coordinated, tighter across his shoulders and lower on his collarbone, color across his eyes and his scowl made more dangerous. Heat sets on his face and his laughter edges on hysteric. He drops his head, keeps laughing, tries to ignore something ugly in his throat.

“Okay,” Sakamoto says, obviously unenthused, “that’s enough.”

Goro squeezes his eyes shut, calms the laughter, and raises his head. He breathes deep but can still feel how red his face is. “Thank you for that. That was a treat.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and chews thoughtfully, back on task, back to Sakamoto’s job search, away from strange, intrusive thoughts about a man that should, by all accounts, still hate him. “So retail and food service is out, but there are other types of jobs on campus, surely.” Goro is bothered that he’s so bothered.

“What, like tutoring?” Sakamoto crosses his arms. “I’m not smart enough for that.”

Goro doesn’t know Sakamoto’s grades well enough to argue, though he can assume. “Teacher’s aide?” Sakamoto shakes his head. “Note taker?” Sakamoto shakes his head more vigorously and Goro thinks that it was a good idea to call it ‘note taker’ instead of ‘transcriber’. Sakamoto’s frustration presses at Goro’s shoulders and he slumps under it. He gestures towards Sakamoto’s computer, “Let’s see what’s out there, what we’re working with. There’s various job listings online.” Easier to go off of a list than throw suggestions blindy.

Ryuji hesitates, then opens up his computer and begins typing.

Goro watches Sakamoto brow furrow, even as he types with earnestness. There's some muted clicking from the track pad, the gentle slope of his shoulder as he scrolls through the job listings, but that same crinkle at the peak of his brows doesn't relent.

"Someone in the dorm said the school has one advertised. It has the jobs closest to campus." He says, the gentle click scroll slide following his words. Sakamoto's eyebrows furrow more. Goro takes a small bite of food and sits thoughtfully.

What would suit someone like Sakamoto well enough to get him through the beginning of his college career? What would have enough personal contact for Sakamoto to showcase his genuine smile and want to help more than his major already does? What would be the best for someone so honest and who cares more than most people would realize?

Goro chews slowly. Why would that be important in the first place? He needs an employer that would be willing to put up with a foul mouth and bleached hair and a college schedule. No one cares about the finer points of what Sakamoto has to offer, nor does he need to showcase them for a part time job he needs for pocket money.

Sakamoto's shoulders slump dramatically.

"What?" Goro asks curtly.

"There's nothing, dude." Sakamoto stares despondently off to the side, avoiding Goro's gaze and the incriminating blue light from his computer screen. Goro sincerely doubts that there's nothing, even taking into account Sakamoto's dramatacisms.

"That's impossible," Goro shakes his head. "List some off for me." He takes a sip of water, eyes sharp on Sakamoto and how slowly he moves. Goro can't tell if it's because Sakamoto does not like the idea of the work required for some jobs or if he really has the deep seated feeling that he would be unable to do well in such positions.

"Financial aid receptionist," he starts after a moment, catching Goro's eyes and then looking back towards the list, "Big Bang Burger, custodian, library assistant, Big Bang Burger, barista, tutor, computer lab assistant, fucking Big Bang Burger-" His voice takes a hard edge with every listing, the divot in his forehead getting deeper, the tightness along his shoulders getting heavier.

"Alright, stop. Stop." Goro tries to see the listings himself, leaning over the table and trying to peek around the edge of the laptop. Sakamoto twists the screen his direction to accommodate. He can see that the listings are just as abysmal as Sakamoto had said. Several for Big Bang Burger, all in a row, as desperate for student workers as students are desperate for a job. A lot of listings with huge lists of prerequisites, some including prior experience, which Goro barely holds back a scoff at, some require certain majors only apply, some site classes that have precedence.

He stretches more to read whats closer to the bottom of the screen and can feel the twist and pull of a muscle cramping in his neck. He breathes sharply from his nose. "This isn't working."

Goro doesn't think about why he's getting up and moving to Sakamoto's side of the booth, nor why he can't meet Sakamoto's eyes when he sits down. "Go to the next page," he says instead, mumbled through him trying to find something else, reading through what is desired but not required.

Sakamoto obeys but the next page is much the same. Listing after listing of requirements that Sakamoto would not meet or jobs that would leave him miserable. Goro tries a few, reads off some that seem like they might be enough for Sakamoto to accept or have low enough standards that Sakamoto could at least try to apply. There's a frustration every time Sakamoto refuses one, but it's not a frustration at Sakamoto, rather a clinging annoyance at how so many places of employment set requirements too high for any first year student to be able to obtain.

Besides that, Goro can see how hard Sakamoto is trying; he has obviously been looking for something much longer than just this hour at the diner. It's telling in how he scrolls through with barely enough time to read the entire listing before moving on, like he's seen all of it before.

He reaches across the table at Goro's neglected food and Goro can't find it in himself to even pretend to care. He can feel the heat from Sakamoto with how close they sit, can feel the tension and anger that Sakamoto has directed at himself because of this job searching. Something like spite sits on Goro's skin, the need to find something that would be fitting and feasible where Sakamoto could not, to prove that there is something that Sakamoto could do and do well. Goro doesn't know who he's proving it to, though, and he puts the thought out of his mind in favor of going through the next page of listings.

Sakamoto takes the last bite of the sandwich they had inadvertently been sharing and Goro flags down Maya-chan with little thought. He smiles sweetly at her, asks for another sugary coffee the way Sakamoto likes it as well as an iced tea for himself. He knows Maya well enough to not have to ask for the extra sugar he'll need in it. He looks to Sakamoto for a food order who shrugs in response, "Wanna just get more fries?"

It's easy to do this, Goro thinks, and hates how he thinks about it. It's easy to sit side by side with Sakamoto and share food and time and frustrations in companionable silence.

"Would you like all that on your bill, Himura-kun?" Maya-chan writes down the order dutifully.

"Yes, please," he says, already back to focusing on Sakamoto's computer.

"Man," Sakamoto is quiet, "I keep forgetting you're not, uh, you know."

Goro tenses, and the ease he had felt vanishes. He had forgotten as well. He had forgotten, for just that moment, the history that they share, sordid and bloody as it is. It had felt comfortable but that was a mistake on Goro's part. Whatever relationship he has with Sakamoto now is borne out of necessity. He has to play the part of friend because that is what Sakamoto had pushed for, and in return he gets some semblance of privacy away from Akechi Goro.

"Should I be, like, calling you by that name?" _That name_ , like Himura Koji is somehow worse than Akechi Goro, like an unwanted orphan was worse than a lying murderer.

Maybe it was, it's certainly how some people think.

Goro sighs. He leans away from the computer, suddenly annoyed by its light, and tries to reach for a leftover fry on his plate. There are none, and he feels like there might be something akin to irony in that. "I'd prefer if you did not confuse my coworkers or the patrons of the diner. But if you'd rather call me Akechi elsewhere because that's how you know me, I won't stop you."

"Will it alarm anybody or raise suspicions?" Sakamoto whispers like they're talking about high risk espionage.

It's easy for his grimace to twist into a smirk, let discomfort twist into morbid humor, "I don't think there's spies lurking in the shadows. No, if they haven't found me yet, I doubt they would now. I don't know why I insist on the other name." Yes he does. No one had searched for Akechi Goro and he had clung to Himura Koji as a new beginning in order to avoid feeling completely worthless. He tries to lie through his teeth but the truth, bitter as it is, slips through. "I just," he pauses clumsily, tries to regain his grasp on the lie and finds that he can't. Not with how Ryuji looks at him with such genuine concern, with how he whispers an old name like it will hurt Goro more than anyone else. "Maybe I want to believe that someone could possibly recognize the name Akechi Goro, even if no one has, nor do I want them to."

"It had an impact, at one point. It's not dumb to think or wish it still could." Sakamoto insists and there's a pressure at Goro's sternum he can't define.

He sits up straighter, "I didn't say it was dumb."

"You didn't have to," Sakamoto shrugs.

Goro can't look at Sakamoto, can't meet his eyes or note how he has turned his body to face him like Goro was more important than what they were working on. He can't handle the force of Sakamoto's full attention so he doesn't because he can't articulate why it bothers him so much.

Maya-chan returns with their drinks and Goro takes them with a thanks, tasting the already-sweetened tea and adding more sugar to it for good measure. He lets the chill of the tea sit in the back of his throat, lets it bring clarity.

"No coffee?" Sakamoto asks.

Goro pauses, shakes his head. "No, I haven't had any since... well."

He hadn't had any since that morning but watching Sakamoto clam up and recoil gives a vicious satisfaction to chase away whatever feeling had put pressure on his bones.

"Right," Sakamoto mumbles and Goro keeps his focus on the computer.

He still ends up laughing, however, when he comes across a job ad that smacks so thoroughly of Ren right after he had made Sakamoto uncomfortable with his coffee inquiry. "Look," he highlights:

**WANTED: FLOWER SHOP ATTENDANT**

"Oh my god," Sakamoto says, exasperated. He brushes Goro's hand off the keyboard to aggressively scroll away. "Anyway," he says.

Goro, for once, can't look away from Sakamoto. He had expected some level of reference to Ren, perhaps some eye rolling or scoffing or something other than Sakamoto moving past it all together. And it certainly wasn't for Sakamoto’s own benefit, as he had not looked at any of the job requirements or stopped to refute the suggestion. He had immediately associated the job ad with Ren and just as immediately moved away from it.

It had been only for Goro's benefit. His comfort. His desire to separate what had been when he was Not a Phantom Thief and now.

"Not too excited about the flower shop job?" He asks. Sakamoto just whistles and Goro can't help but laugh. He whistles his innocence knowing there's more to be said about it and refusing to do so.

He turns the computer back to Goro without another word and Goro continues the slow scroll down because he doesn't know how to inquire further nor does he want to question Sakamoto's motives.

it works fine this way, Goro thinks. Sakamoto's attention strays and Goro scrolls through the repetitive Big Bang Burger listings until his cyclical thoughts focus down to a singular point. It's a listing that seems tailor made, like they had seen Ryuji's university entrance paper work and made a job posting just for him.

**! LOOKING FOR FRONT DESK RECEPTIONIST FOR IWATODAI UNIVERSITY GYM- FLEXIBLE HOURS !**

He hits Sakamoto's arm to get his attention.

"If you're about to show me a Starbucks ad, I swear-"

"No, look," Goro tells him. He can see the exact moment Sakamoto reads through and decides it is not as fitting as Goro thinks it is. "It's perfect," Goro tells him.

There's a pause, "Receptionist? Don't they gotta, like, answer phones and stuff?" Sakamoto squints at the screen, finding all the places where he would not fit in.

"Okay, listen," Goro turns in his seat to face Sakamoto, "I am giving you the best job you're going to find. Receptionists sit on their asses all day, do the bare minimum, and are borderline security guards. It'll be easy on your leg and you'll have plenty of time to do your homework. What more could you ask for?"

Sakamoto fidgets and scratches at the back of his neck, "It just sounds too good to be true. I doubt I'm qualified for it, I have no experience."

The first tendrils of annoyance towards Sakamoto sit at the edge of Goro's tongue. "That's why I'm here. I volunteered my services, did I not?" This job was entirely too perfect for Sakamoto to not add enough padding to his resume in some ill begot idealism about truthfulness in job applications and the workplace.

"Well, yeah, but-"

"This is what I'm good at," Goro interrupts him, "creating an idealized version of yourself to present for someone else's approval. I think I can manage to make you presentable enough to be hired by a goddamn gym."

Goro counts the seconds of Sakamoto's hesitation, sees self deprecation rise to the surface bolstered by overt honesty. "I just," Sakamoto starts after too many seconds, "don't want you to put in so much effort and have it not work out."

"Then you apply elsewhere. It's not a difficult concept." He ignores Sakamoto's reservations on his behalf, pushes it down down down until all that's left is the focus to convince Sakamoto to apply regardless. "Describe 'Social Media Campaigning' to me." He flips back over to the document containing Sakamoto's resume.

“There’s nothing to tell, it was a bullshit club I joined so I wouldn’t have to be in any clubs. The guy used it as an excuse to stream his mmorpgs with people.” Sakamoto says moodily.

Goro rolls his eyes, thinks on it, types ‘interpersonal online correspondence’ which Sakamoto immediately refutes.

“Uh, I really don’t think it was anything like that.”

Goro continues typing, “Obviously, but the interviewers don’t need to know that. As long as it sounds impressive, you should be fine.” It’s close enough in principle that even if he was pressed, Sakamoto should be able to spin something positive about it.

“That sounds an awful lot like lying to me.” Sakamoto tells him, his pouting having given way to dubiousness.

He stops typing with an annoyed huff, “It’s not. It’s describing the truth in colorful enough language that even clueless adults will find it worthwhile.” Because the adults will lie to him anyway, already have with these job listings that require more than anyone is capable of. They will look down on him and use him as they see fit regardless of whatever job descriptions are outlined on the plain web page. The least Sakamoto could do is give them a run for their money.

“But I don’t wanna advertise something that I’m not. Even if I get an interview, they’re gonna know I’m not who I say I am.”

There is a quick, abrupt thought that Sakamoto is more that he will ever give himself credit for and Goro is quick to interrupt it, “You’re overestimating how much employers pay attention,” he says instead. “They’re all self-centered, they’re only concerned with what you can do for them. As long as you focus on that,” as long as Goro focuses on that and not how Sakamoto sells himself short, unable to see his own charm, “they don’t care who you are.”

“Is that how you feel about Auntie?” Sakamoto’s words bite and it stings more than Goro would have ever thought.

He looks at Sakamoto, his naivete as astounding as his insight. “Once I told Auntie I had open availability and more than one year of customer service experience, I was nearly hired on the spot. You sound as if I deceived her.” It’s hard to deceive someone when they find you destitute on the side of the road, barely refraining from panhandling. It’s hard to deceive someone when your stomach growls mid interview and no amount of pleasant smiles will make them believe that you just skipped breakfast that day.

There are things Goro may have once used to his advantage, small additions to round out a story of a pitiable existence, things he would have lied about to get his way. Even in using all the advice he gives Sakamoto now, he doesn’t think Auntie would have fallen for it anyway.

Maya comes by their table with their order of fries and it pops the tension, stops all the words that threatened to fall from Goro’s mouth. He instead takes a handful of fries in childish spite and stuffs his face with them, meeting Ryuji’s glare with his own.

Sakamoto laughs, “You’re a stubborn son of a bitch,” he says, reaching for his coffee.

“Calling the kettle black,” Goro answers once he’s swallowed. He wipes the grease off of his hands with a napkin and clicks back to the job description. “If you look here, you can see exactly what they are looking for. I can plug in what applies to you into your resume, put in the buzzwords that they are specifically looking for. If anything sounds too outrageous, let me know, and I’ll change it. Does that sound fair?”

Sakamoto nods and Goro mirrors it, sliding the laptop closer to himself. Sakamoto is a quiet observer, making few comments, and falling back into the rhythm rejuvenates Goro’s patience. It’s easier now with the focus back on Sakamoto, away from dangerous thoughts and painful memories and rampant self deprecation.

When Goro is satisfied with the resume, he slides it back in front of Sakamoto. It is carefully put together to sound impressive and professional without affecting Ryuji’s delicate sensibilities or sense of honor through honesty. “The rest is up to you. Let me know how it goes and if you want interview advice.”

He watches Sakamoto pack away his laptop, “Thank you, really, I appreciate it.” Sakamoto looks over Goro’s shoulder and then back in his eyes, “I’m sorry I gave you so much crap.”

“It’s alright, we got it done in the end.” He thinks he feels proud, a content he can’t place. He moves out of the booth to let Sakamoto stand up.

Sakamoto doesn’t leave immediately, “And,” he scrambles for words, “thanks for the food, too. I owe you. Again.”

“We seem to be trapped in an endless cycle of repaying favors.” Goro hums.

“We could just call it friendship instead.” There is no unsure pause, no halting doubts or hesitance. Sakamoto says it like it’s the natural course of events and it twists something cold and sharp in Goro.

He doesn’t move. “Why would we do that?”

“Who else is gonna bully me?” Sakamoto tries to joke but Goro feels like his blood is freezing static. “I just had a really fun time tonight, and want to do it more often. You’re difficult to talk to sometimes, but you have interesting ideas. I think I could learn from you, and maybe you can learn from me?”

Goro can’t look at him. What does he have to offer? Murderous resentment? How to lie and manipulate and hate? Sakamoto has seen him at his lowest, at the base root of who he is, who Akechi Goro is despite whatever attempts he has made at a new life. He will always be an unwanted orphan and a cold-hearted assassin and the remnants of a madman’s hubris. He has the blood of so many people on his hands and regrets that he drowns in and a few dinners and help with a resume is not enough to atone for all he is guilty of.

Yet Sakamoto looks at him like he’s more than all that, more than the sum of so many broken parts, and Goro can’t help but already feel like a failure when faced with that. And Sakamoto offers friendship? Holds out his hand and offers his umbrella and limps alongside him and then doesn’t speak to him for months only to come back and act like nothing happened. Like regardless of time apart, the time together is something Sakamoto cares about.

Goro’s chest feels tight, like he can’t breathe out, like his lungs are over inflated but he can’t seem to get a breath in, either. He can’t- he doesn’t-

“Come over to the dorm some time.” Sakamoto blurts.

“What?” His vision clears and he looks at Ryuji with wide eyes.

“The-the guys are trying to plan an onigiri day. It’s the only thing anybody knows how to make. I can’t properly thank you with a night out, so I can make you food instead? We can celebrate properly if I get a job, but for now…” Sakamoto flounders in the silence.

“Sure,” Goro says before he can think too deeply about it. He lets out a shaky breath.

“Great, cool. Cool.” Sakamoto laughs awkwardly, ‘Uh, what’s your work schedule like?”

“I”m closing for the next bit, I won’t get out until late into the evening. I’ll let you know when I have a day off or an evening free.” Goro says slowly, feeling the words before they leave his mouth, unused to negotiating compromise in such an honest way.

“Sure, yeah. Uh, how?” Sakamoto shifts from foot to foot.

Goro doesn’t know what he means at first. It’s easy enough to tell him outright that he would have an evening free, and then he realizes, “Oh, right. No phone. There’s a public phone in the lobby I can use.”

Sakamoto nods and Goro wonders if he’s trying to find a way to rescind the offer when he takes too long to offer his number. He can see the moment it clicks because Sakamoto mumbles a, “Hang on,” before digging into his backpack.

He hands a slip of paper with his number scrawled on it to Goro, messy but legible, and Goro carefully folds it and slides it into his pocket.

“Cool!” Sakamoto yells awkwardly, “Cool,” he continues, softer, “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

Goro, for lack of an idea of a better goodbye, waves uncomfortably at him, unsure of how to feel about. Everything. About the invitation of friendship and an invitation to spend time together outside of fiscal obligation, about Sakamoto and how earnest he seemed in all his awkward endeavors.

Sakamoto leaves quickly, heading out the door without a backwards glance. It’s dark outside and Goro can feel every hour he has spent at the diner today. He breathes deep, looking at the now vacant booth with the remnants of their meal. It takes a moment for him to consolidate his feelings, the whiplash of being apathetic towards Sakamoto and then angry and then accepting leaves him aching deep in his bones.

Sakamoto called it friendship, insinuated that he considered the two of them friends. Goro wants to scoff at the idea, but it feels so similarly to back then, to being included, to Ren and-

Auntie sidles up to him with a knowing smile. “So, Koji-kun, the same booth bench? It seems you’ve moved your relationship forward.”

“Why, Auntie, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, I was merely helping an-” he stumbles over the word ‘acquaintance’ and then decides against it, “helping a friend with his resume, nothing more.”

Auntie smiles and clears the table. “I’m sure you were. Now hurry home you’ve been here long enough.”

“Of course, Auntie, thank you for looking out for me.” Goro dips into a bow and Auntie thwaps him with her towel.

* * *

It takes Goro a week and a half to muster up courage to contact Sakamoto. There were many free nights in the time, but the telephone in the front of the diner was daunting and Ryuji's phone number burned every time he held the scrap of paper in his palm.

Sakamoto does not come to the diner in that week and a half, either. 10 days is nothing close to the several week gap he had last time, but his absence is more noticeable because Goro is the one that has to make the first move.

Auntie keeps looking at him expectantly; her eyebrows are raised every time he walks in for his shift, and while she has stopped inquiring after Sakamoto by name, Goro knows her intent. How can he explain the difference, though? Goro has sought other people's time before, and has dealt with their disinterest, but the idea of facing that rejection from someone like Sakamoto who has only sought Goro's time seems more daunting.

Not that he would face rejection. The phone call was only to establish each other's availability and make a plan. He gave Goro his phone number, he wouldn't rescind the invitation to the dorms after that. It's a mantra Goro repeats to himself when he approaches Auntie for the next Friday night off.

He figures that, given Sakamoto’s schedule, Friday night would be the safest bet. The likelihood of homework being due the next day or any other class requirements was a great deal lower on a Friday.

“Auntie,” he approaches her on his break, “I’m afraid I have a favor to ask.”

"I'm giving you Friday night off," Auntie tells him. "You work too much, you need to get out and be young. I'm tired of you moping around here, and that’s what you were going to ask anyway, right? I’ve seen you checking the schedule several times."

"Moping?" Goro asks, affronted.

Auntie does not dignify him with a response, going back to wiping down the bar area.

He wasn't moping, there was nothing to mope about. He was panicking, which is vastly different.

Auntie approaches him later, informing him that she’s updated the schedule. "If I see you around here on Friday night, I'm firing you." She glares pointedly at him and then gestures for him to sit down for his employee meal. "So have fun with whatever plans you’ve made for yourself.”

"Auntie, while I appreciate the concern, I'm not sure I can meet your expectations on such short notice, for while you do pay me a decent wage I still have other responsibilities and-"

"Koji-kun, the telephone out front is free for you to use to call up any of your friends." Her words ring with finality and places a sandwich in front of him.

“I don’t know how to thank you, I will most assuredly make up for the inconvenience in any way I can and-”

“Koji-kun, eat.”

A week and a half. Two full weeks by the time Friday rolls around. Enough time for him not to be desperate, enough time for him to swallow down nerves and stop buzzing over the word friendship and not be too burdensome of Sakamoto's time.

He calls that same night and ignores Auntie's smug smile. Ryuji's phone number is slightly smudged for how much Goro has worn the paper down, and it rings enough times for Goro to think Sakamoto was not going to pick up.

"Hello?" Sakamoto's voice is grainy over the telephone and Goro thinks he sounds much older this way.

"Hi, it's me," Goro answers and then immediately wants to kick himself. 'It's me'? Was this some cheesy American movie? He ignores Auntie's eyes on him, or how Auntie whispers to Maya-chan as they pass each other. He turns more towards the counter.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Ryuji's voice sounds as cheery as ever, and despite the question being mostly for manner's sake, it feels genuine.

So Goro tells him, "Tired," genuinely. There's a laugh that tacks onto the tail end of it and suddenly making this plan doesn't seem so terrible a task. "But I've been blessed with an evening off this Friday, if your dorm mates were still wanting to have company over."

"Yeah, definitely," Sakamoto says quickly, "people are always welcome. It's a pretty big place, actually."

The enthusiasm is a soothing balm to Goro's heated anxiety and it's easy to breathe. "Should I bring anything over?"

"Nah, just you is alright. I can pick you up, walk you over here." Ryuji says it so easily, like it means nothing to him, but the words resonate so soundly within Goro that he might shake with them.

He doesn't think anyone has said something similar to him with such ease and sincerity. He struggles to remember if anyone had ever told him that Goro, just as himself, would be enough for anything. "Alright," Goro responds, and then, "thank you." He doesn't think he can match Sakamoto's sincerity or if he's even capable of it.

Sakamoto brushes it off, a quick, "Yeah," before they hang up.

Friday is only a few days away, and suddenly, with the dial tone in his ear, all of the anxiety that had made him wait a week and a half to contact Sakamoto is there, pressing at his throat. It's made worse by how little time he has to prepare himself, how few hours sit between him and Sakamoto's home.

His home that he invited Goro into as a way to repay him for his help without anything obligate. This anxiety doesn't burn, doesn't scald or scar. Goro might even be excited.

-

Auntie recognizes the change in Goro immediately and Goro has taken to avoiding her when possible because her smile is too doting to be smug. She hums thoughtfully around him, asking him if he needs any additional days off, if he'd like to set some restrictions to his schedule, if she should anticipate his employee meal containing more than just one sandwich.

Goro tries to politely decline, to downplay what she's insinuating, to question outright why she would think such things were necessary. "But Auntie, isn't that bad for the diner? You've already been so kind, I could never impose something so selfish, especially considering the kindness you've already shown me, which I will of course pay back any way I can."

"You've already shared your employee meal, Koji-kun, so you can drop that little act. If you need extra for Sakamoto-kun, all you need do is ask." She says back, just as sweetly.

"Sakamoto-san? Why would you think I would need extra for him in particular? It's just an unfortunate coincidence that most of my serving mishaps happen when I am serving him." Goro responds with food plates lined up his arm.

"Serving mishaps? Is that why you sat with him after the end of your shift to help him with that project and then put his food on your tab? That doesn't seem like a mishap to me, Koji-kun." Auntie grabs a plate that had been teetering on his elbow.

"I consider it part of the experience, Auntie. This diner has been so kind to me, it's only appropriate that I extend that kindness to our guests. We must always do well to put our best foot forward, after all, and because Sakamoto is a regular, I figured it would be beneficial to follow that philosophy." Goro smiles at the table he serves and they smile back, charmed.

"Sakamoto, hm? Not Sakamoto-san? That's a very familiar way of address if you're just intending to provide excellent service, Koji-kun." Auntie hands him an order slip to deliver to the kitchen.

"A slip of the tongue, Auntie, as you can see we are very busy, and I'm afraid more of my concentration is devoted to helping our current guests instead of speaking about other regulars not currently present." He takes the order of another table in his section and goes to deliver the orders to the kitchen.

"I have only ever known you as unerringly polite, Himura-kun. You make for a terrible liar."

Goro could laugh if it weren't for the number of plates he has stacked too high in his arms. Auntie takes it as a win and smiles sweetly before walking away. She offers no help even though they totter precariously, and Goro rushes to deposit them in the sink only to be flagged down by another table on the way, and then another table beyond that.

He has more plates added to the stack before he can actually make it to the kitchen and then has the misfortune to run into Sakamoto only after other customers have him frazzled.

"Hey," Sakamoto greets, "how the hell are you carrying all of that?"

"Very carefully," Goro answers, starting to step away. Friday is busy and there are few open seating options to wait for Goro to get off his shift. "Go ahead and sit at the bar, hopefully I'll be done soon." He makes his exit quickly, arms shaking and sore from having to hold so many dishes for too long.

There's no one in the back and so he takes the opportunity to rest. He deposits dishes in the soapy water sitting in the sink and rinses them. It's quiet without anyone else in the cleaning area, most of the diner noise being blocked out, and the kitchen having reached a brief moment of calm. Goro knows the moment of peace won't last, so he takes his time with the dishware. Breathes deep. Gets himself ready for a house of noisy college boys and having to work through the rest of his shift and how loud Sakamoto will undoubtedly be when around men just like him.

He dries his hands and straightens his apron. It's instinctual to scan the diner for anyone that might need anything as he steps out of the kitchen, and when no one immediately attempts to gain his attention, he turns towards the bar to find Sakamoto sitting and chatting with Auntie.

There is an inexplicable and immediate dislike to them talking alone today of all days. It feels like Auntie is pressing for something that is too fledgling new to be pushed.

His eyes are elsewhere when he approaches them, still scanning the diner, but Auntie is very quick to dismiss him. "You're good for the day. Go on."

Goro is out of breath, his elbow aching from all the dishes, "Are you sure?" Auntie moves to get her towel out to hit him with it and he takes a placating step back. "Alright, alright, I'm going." He looks over to Ryuji and has the irrepressible urge to smile. Goro had expected some amount of support and prodding from Auntie, but not early relief from his shift, despite Auntie being the one to give him the night off in the first place.

Her level of involvement continues to surprise Goro since he has nothing to give in return save for doing a mediocre job being waitstaff. Yet she houses him and feeds him and accepts his blunders and forces him towards interpersonal relationships he would not have the wherewithal to harbor if left to his own devices.

She gestures towards the door again and he bows slightly. "Let me change out of my uniform." He excuses himself and heads out the door in the back.

Goro changes with haste, missing the rung to hang his apron twice and snagging his fingers in his hair when he takes his ponytail out.

He's still brushing out his hair when he walks back out into the dining area, trying not to think about how the dorm mates will react to him or how much Sakamoto may have talked about him. If he is to assume Sakamoto talked about him at all. Which in retrospect, might be more presumptuous considering their interactions are far and few between and everything prior to a few dinners together was... less than optimal.

Sakamoto rises to meet him so they can leave, but Goro does not miss the look he and Auntie share, nor the look of discomfort Sakamoto has as they go. It stirs something in Goro as they wave goodbye.

The walk to Sakamoto's dorm is largely uneventful. Goro has his fists tightly clenched to hide the anxiety that makes them shake and focuses on talking about the small, inconsequential things from the day. Like the, "Geriatric fuckhead that had me running in circles because his soup was too cold and then it was too hot and that obviously the kitchen staff couldn't get it right so they should just start over. Like starting over would fix anything? It would come out at the same temperature as it did originally because all soups are just in vat like pots waiting to be served and that even if it was a brand new, absolutely fresh pot, chances are it would still be too hot for this ancient, wrinkly sac to gum down and if he waited for it to cool appropriately, we would be back to where we started."

It has Ryuji laughing beside him, gasping for breath and holding his sides and it eases Goro's nerves.

In turn, Sakamoto attempts to tell him about biology concepts his professor was lecturing about earlier in his class. Goro is immediately lost, but nods and hums along to Sakamoto's clumsy explanations. He can tell that Sakamoto understands well enough, but the terminology has him stuttering around broken Japanese versions of long strings of Latin. He was going on about a concept on musculature when he suddenly stops and looks at Goro, like he was waiting for input.

It's so sudden, Goro laughs, "I'll take your word for it, science was my least understood subject. I had to cram before tests in order to pass, which lead to the knowledge leaving me shortly afterwards."

Sakamoto tilts his head like he's trying to understand, "All those criminal shows always talk about, like, alcohol content in victims and stuff. That's all chemistry," he says like he's trying to connect Goro's lack of scientific understanding to the dramatizations on daytime television.

Goro leans in, like he's intending to include Sakamoto on a well kept conspiracy, "I'll let you in on a secret. Policemen are your standard normies, right?" He uses verbiage Sakamoto would understand and laughs at Sakamoto's immediate shift into surprise. "So then by that logic, us detectives are the jocks of the precinct. But the lab techs? Nerds."

It's hard to forget how much paperwork the policemen did even as the sneered at Goro for going to crime scenes and looking for evidence. How the lab techs would always question the validity of the evidence samples he provided them.

"I'm sure the lab techs feel differently," Sakamoto says.

"Perhaps." Goro replies and lets the conversation drop.

They walk in companionable silence for a moment.

"So," Sakamoto says, breaking the quiet, "did that make you the star quarterback, back in the day?"

The comparison is so absurd Goro covers his mouth to laugh in surprise. "I suppose so. I certainly ended up like one: washed up after the glorious high school days."

"You're not washed up," Sakamoto responds immediately. His words are somber and weighted.

"It was a joke," Goro smirks, sharp, not joking. "I didn't even graduate high school."

His words have the intended effect, ending the conversation fully. Goro doesn't need Sakamoto's platitudes or reassurances. He knows exactly where he stands in direct comparison to where he stood. Ryuji telling him pretty lies that Ryuji doesn't see as lies are less placating and more like additional barbs to the bed of thorns Goro has made for himself.

They round the corner to Sakamoto's street in silence and Goro slows. The trees are large and old, fitting next to the rows of brick buildings. There is bright jingling as Sakamoto reaches into his pocket for his keys.

"Cute," Goro says as they walk up to the dorm.

Sakamoto moves to unlock the door but pauses, "Do you wanna be called Akechi or Himura?" He asks, voice low.

Goro frowns. "Well, have you talked about me before?" Because it wouldn't matter if he hadn't and Goro sincerely doubted he had. He was just some random person Sakamoto had run into and sometimes ate meals with. How he referred to Goro was inconsequential at this point. No one was going to look for or care about Akechi Goro and Himura Koji was even more of a nobody. Sakamoto could call him either and it would have the same effect.

"Yeah, but I kept it vague. You know, like, 'my friend.'" Sakamoto keeps his words hushed and Goro has to hide his shock.

"Of course you did," he mumbles and rolls his eyes to buy time. "Well, I think I can introduce myself, thank you very much." This gives him more time to think and make a decision on who he needs to be for these people.

"Alright," Ryuji grumbles and opens the door.

They are immediately met with the sound of the television a room over and a few of the dorm mates studying at the coffee table. Goro can also hear some clanking from what he assumes is the kitchen and is suddenly worried that he doesn't have enough time to decide what personage he wants to use.

"Hey," Ryuji greets the room.

"Welcome back," one of them says, then immediately turns toward Goro. "Are you the friend?"

Goro gives a slight bow with his head, a charming smile twisting into place, "Akechi Goro. It's a pleasure to meet you all." Less of a chance for Sakamoto to slip up with his name, sure, but now he has to hope none of these dorm mates interact with the Phantom Thieves should they decide to visit Sakamoto. Or that none of these strangers would recognize him from any number of shows he was on several years ago. Or that none of them would think he bears a "striking resemblance" to Detective Prince, Akechi Goro.

A stage name is only as good as the character it portrays and Goro chose his character incorrectly after a poor assessment of Sakamoto.

The guys working at the coffee table don't make any outward indication that the name is familiar and introduce themselves in turn.

The one who had asked if Goro was "The Friend", Tezuka, says they should probably go help out in the kitchen. Goro agrees, tapping Sakamoto on the shoulder to get his attention. He had seemed deep in thought, but Goro did not dwell- could not afford to right now. It would bother him later, seeing Sakamoto so preoccupied right after he had introduced himself as a dead man, but for now he relays Tezuka's advice and they head towards the kitchen.

It’s chaotic, to say the least. The sounds of pots and pans Goro had heard from the common room have nothing on the raucousness of so many men in so small a space.

He's introduced to Hinata and Mihashi, the former of which already has his mouth stuffed with rice and the latter waving meekly. Goro introduces himself in turn, raising his voice enough to be heard over the din.

"Hungry?" Hinata asks, but Goro politely declines, wary of the misshapen rice ball in Hinata's hand.

"I can wait for everyone to eat together," he keeps his smile up, just big enough to be polite and approachable. Hinata's gaze is heavy as he swallows the rest of his onigiri in one bite.

"He didn't wait, you don't have to," Sakamoto laughs moving into the crowd to try and get his own onigiri. Goro follows closely, not wanting to stay by Hinata and his piercing eyes alone. "You like seafood, yeah? You want tuna mayo or salmon?" Sakamoto asks him.

Goro wants to decline again. He is polite and pleasant and always giving of his time before he takes from others. He hesitates, "Salmon," he says finally, grateful.

Ryuji just nods before elbowing other people out of the way so they can wash their hands, his voice loud even over the noise of dishes and cooking and so many other people.

They're approached by another dorm mate, "Hi, I'm Katsuki, I'm making the salmon onigiri if you'd like to help me? I couldn't help but overhear." His smile is kind and Goro can see how Ryuji returns the grin.

Katsuki, with Tezuka's help, drags Goro through the line to where the salmon is. Sakamoto separates from them and turns his attention to the umeboshi Goro can see on the counter between the two tallest people in the room.

Both Tezuka and Katsuki are polite enough, and Goro is relieved. He had imagined more people like Ryuji, loud and brunt and bright. Instead, they politely ask him how he and Sakamoto met, to which Goro answers that they had been acquaintances through high school but had fallen out of touch until recently.

They reveal that Sakamoto had talked much more frequently about Goro than Goro had ever thought, and that they had been wondering what had him going to the diner so frequently. Goro just laughs, a small thing, because he doesn't know how to respond. He packs the salmon into the rice ball and shapes it carefully, pressing the rice together into a small triangle.

"Look at that!" Hinata's voice is close and loud and it startles Goro.

"Dude," someone else says with awe.

There are many eyes on him, but Goro finds Sakamoto's and raises his eyebrows in silent question. Tezuka catches his gaze and gestures to the perfect rice ball and Goro pats down one side in understanding. He hadn't thought about its appearance but it's obvious when compared to the other onigiri made, his is... a lot more neat.

Goro agrees to make more onigiri for the other dorm mates, especially after watching one of them pack the rice down only to have it fall apart the moment he took his hands away. It's quick work and Katsuki and Tezuka chat by him with small outbursts from Hinata who stands just on their other side.

When he's made enough for all of them a few times over, they move everything to the common room. He catches a few of their eyes and only smiles, unsure how else to handle their stares.

Hinata already has bite out of another onigiri when he asks, "So what are you majoring in, Akechi?"

He chews thoughtfully, letting time sit between the question and a deep seated anger of a future stripped from him. "I'm not," he answers with a hand covering a full mouth.

"Undecided," someone says lazily to his left, "me too, man."

"No, no, I"m not going to school. It's not something that I will find benefit in. I'm perfectly content remaining in the workforce." He takes another bite in the face of their silence and flips his hair out of his face with a small laugh. "I am curious about what you're all studying, though."

Most of the guys chuckle with him, let his carefully affected charm fill in the cracks of the dissonance of him being here. He's basically outright admitted to being unable to attend college for one reason or another, since they know he works at the diner and he has no other prospects lined up. But if he smiles just so, cants his head and laughs with more air than voice, they'll all follow along.

"What sort of majors are you all in to be gathered here?" Goro continues.

"Sports, mostly," Hinata answers.

"Tezuka and I are baseball players," Mihashi says, quiet, "Aomine and Sasagawa play basketball." He gestures to the two tallest men.

"Ah, I should have guessed," Goro turns towards them, "what with the height."

"You play anything?" Aomine asks.

Goro contemplates talking about bouldering, but decides against it. "I've hung around the batting cages once or twice."

Mihashi and Tezuka are immediately interested. They ask how he liked it, if he ever did more with baseball than batting cages, if he was a righty or a lefty, if he did slow or fast pitch, if it was over or underhand pitch, what his bat length was, what baseball position he played. This is what he had expected- the same vigor that Ryuji held himself just transplanted into a different sport, a different set of interests bundled in the same enthusiasm.

Goro had to quickly inform him that he had not done a lot with baseball as a sport, sticking with the batting cages primarily. They were both kind about his lack of knowledge and were quick to fill him in on the finer details of the sport that would be missed with experiencing batting cages alone. Goro nods and hums, provides what he can, smiles smiles smiles. The guys seated around him eat it up and it almost has the same heat as stage lights.

When he looks back towards Sakamoto, he finds Sakamoto already staring at him. Tezuka and Mihashi are debating the merits of practicing on a raised mound versus a flat one when Goro watches Sakamoto stand. He jerks his head minutely towards the stairs and Goro rises to meet him, excusing himself from the conversation.

Sakamoto stops at the stairs and turns to meet Goro who takes the opportunity to breathe deep and revel in the relative silence a room away from so many loud people. "I probably should have guessed this would be like hanging out with twelve of you."

"I'm really sorry, man," Sakamoto starts but Goro interrupts him with a shake of his head.

"Don't be, nothing I can't handle. Although, now that we're away, I would very much like a cigarette." He pats at his pocket to confirm he had brought his pack and it crinkles reassuringly.

"Let me give you a tour of the place," Sakamoto says with a grin and climbs up a flight of stairs. He points down the row of rooms on the second floor, "Mine's down there, so is Mihashi and Hinata and Tezuka."

Goro nods, "You know," he muses, "if it weren't for their different last names, I would almost guess Mihashi and HInata were brothers."

Sakamoto leans against the wall and Goro notices him take some pressure off his leg. "Yeah, they got close pretty quick. Funny, considering Hinata knows shit about baseball."

"People are allowed to have other interests," Goro replies.

Sakamoto ignores the barb, "Mihashi really does like it though. I think he'd legit love to take you to the batting cages."

"I'll consider it," Goro says with a smile and means it. It had been some time since he had thought about the batting cages and it would be nice to take old memories and update them.

There's a beat of silence. "I didn't know you went to the batting cages," Sakamoto says.

"It was a good way to get out aggression. Of which I had an abundance of. But, it required accuracy and precision, so it felt good if I could get myself to hit the target properly." The explanation is watered down but mostly true and it feels better to admit than Goro would have thought. He has been surprised by many things he finds himself enjoying around Sakamoto.

"Ren always talked about proficiency," Sakamoto mumbles and Goro can see the immediate moment he clams up after realizing what he had said. Ren's name is forbidden between them, it seems, if only for Sakamoto to feel like he is respecting Goro's boundaries.

"Yes, he did," Goro says because he can't find it in himself to act surprised, not after Ren was the reason he went to the batting cages at all.

Sakamoto gestures to the stairs, "Going up," he says, obviously done with this conversation.

Goro doesn't comment on it, unsure how he should feel or if he should say anything at all. Instead, he lets Ryuji name the rest of the room assignments, peppering in anecdotes about the residents on the third floor and heading up to the fourth floor.

"How's your leg doing?" Goro asks, spying a set of unoccupied chairs in the hallway. Sakamoto's gait has taken on a slight limp and Goro is concerned despite himself.

"It'll be fine after I sit for a sec," Sakamoto does not sound reassuring even as he takes a seat. "I'm not up here often, obviously.

"What is up here?" Goro spies the single door that takes up the entirety of the fourth floor with suspicion. "That's quite mysterious if you ask me."

"It's some meeting room, we think. We're not quite sure, but it has this big-ass screen built in to the wall, so we hijacked it to make it a gaming room. Yamamoto knows how to build computers or something, figured it all out."

"Did he find any secret files?" Goro asks with a smirk.

Sakamoto doesn't take the bait, shrugging, "Maybe, you'd have to ask him."

"I'm curious as to why they'd have another meeting room up here when there's the common room on the first floor." Goro moves his hand to his chin, thinking, "That gives the impression they had something to hide, or things to discuss in secret."

"Nagisa would be all over this, he loves conspiracy theories." Sakamoto says with a laugh.

"Some have validity."

"Like what?" Ryuji asks, raising an eyebrow, "Aliens?"

"Like aliens," Goro says in all seriousness.

Sakamoto tilts his head, considering, "Actually," he says slowly, "yeah, there's no way we're alone."

"The truth is out there," Goro jokes, wiggling his fingers, feeling warm.

Sakamoto shakes his head with a roll of his eyes and rises. The warm feeling spreads to the tips of his fingers.

There's a hidden ladder that Sakamoto pulls down to open access to the roof and they both haul themselves up.

The feeling of warmth is immediately overtaken by bone shattering cold, something pressing hard into his sternum and leaving him breathless, so similar to pulling his persona that he stands on the roof of the dorm unable to move. It's the ghost of sensation trailing over him, filling something that has sat empty for years.

Sakamoto is suddenly right beside him, "You alright?" He's his own source of heat, and Goro uses it to ground himself.

"Fine, sorry." He goes to sit next to Ryuji who eyes him warily.

"You sure?"

Goro presses his lips together, looks out along the cityscape of Iwatodai, so many buildings obscuring labyrinthine streets, some taller than the dorm and some shorter, some windows lit from within and some blank and dark. "There are several parts of this city like this roof. It's as if there's something calling out. A whisper of something long gone. Sometimes it's easy to miss, other times, it's like a bone-chilling shriek."

"That sounds like a persona." Ryuji says and Goro turns back to him.

He can feel his own smile come unbidden, feel the relief of being understood regardless of how incoherent his rambling. "Maybe. I'm not too sure myself, but you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Goro can see the lack of connection in Sakamoto's eyes. He can see the sympathy but the feeling that Goro experienced- has experienced, is wholly unfamiliar to him.

Sakamoto cringes preemptively, "The alleys are kinda creepy sometimes?"

"That's fair," Goro huffs.

"I'm sorry I can't be more help with this," Sakamoto says. Goro doesn't look at him, but parses Sakamoto's frustration, not understanding where it comes from. His lack of experience is not to his detriment, and whether he knows about what Goro feels or not is of no consequence, so why does he react so strongly? Why does he care? "Do you think we're haunted?" Sakamoto asks.

Goro pauses, then forces himself to relax, "It's possible," he whispers. "I did see a pale little boy wandering around downstairs."

Sakamoto shudders, "Dude, please don't even joke about that."

Goro laughs and Sakamoto joins him. It's a nice sound, rich and real and Goro lets it wash over him to chase the rest of the chill away. He fishes for his pack and opens it to find only one cigarette left.

"Last one," Goro says without thought.

"But you can buy more soon, right?" Sakamoto asks.

A beat. Goro's grin is small, "Can I now?"

"I mean," Sakamoto backpedals, eyes wide, "assuming that your birthday might be coming up soon, possibly. But I don't know."

Goro lights his cigarette, takes a deep drag and exhales the smoke into the night. He can feel how sharp his smile sets. "You googled me," he says after several moments, "didn't you?"

He expects Sakamoto to try and deny it, obvious as it may be, he expects some kind of rebut. But Sakamoto continues to defy expectation. He sighs, defeated, "Sorry,"

Goro holds out the cigarette in offering and Ryuji declines it. He uses the moment to contemplate Sakamoto's unerring honesty, and what it means for the nature of their relationship that Sakamoto can omit but not lie when faced with direct accusation.

"I would have been surprised if you didn't, to be fair. It's really quite too easy to do, after all." If Sakamoto had more cultural presence outside of being Skull, Goro would have googled him, too. "However, are you sure that's my true birth date?"

Sakamoto mulls over the question, cruel joke as it may be. "Yes?"

He looks at Ryuji, looks at his hunched shoulders and the way he looks from Goro to the skyline and back again, how he tried to understand what he could not feel and how he invited him into his home for no other reason than to showcase his sincerity. "It is." Goro tells him, "The easiest way to lie is by not lying as much as possible. You have a foundation that you then build off of, and the snippets of truth make it that much more difficult to refute the fabrications."

"Huh," Sakamoto responds and Goro swallows a laugh.

There are few stars that dot the black night sky the later it gets, more windows illuminated through the city. There's a lot less noise here than Shibuya, so every shift Ryuji makes, every deep inhale, seems amplified between the two of them. The tops of buildings become indistinguishable from the sky save for bright red lights to warn aircraft and top floor windows with thick cement frames.

Goro stubs his cigarette and enjoys the peace, aware of Ryuji but not disturbed by him.

There's the soft click of the latch to the roof access and Mihashi timidly sticks his head out. "We all moved upstairs to play Mario Kart," he says, "if you wanna come down and join us."

Sakamoto looks to Goro, silently asking for him to make the decision. He doesn't suppress his eye roll before standing and holding his hand out to help Sakamoto up. "Let's go socialize with your friends."

Ryuji takes his hand without comment, but Goro does catch his wince when he puts pressure on his leg. He turns away without comment, letting Sakamoto face consequences for his unnecessary pride without any additional disparaging remarks.

They follow Mihashi down and Goro immediately hears the voices of all the other dorm mates loud in the main room. Sakamoto lingers and Goro catches his eye. "Good now?"

"Yeah," Sakamoto opens the door for them. The guys have already set up the game on the big screen in the middle of the room and Goro watches them set up two additional monitors on either side. "So there's normally exactly twelve of us, so if we do online play, we can all play together."

"This is quite impressive. How did you get all of this together?" They cross wires over themselves and plug several other cords until the monitors come to life.

"Sakuragi and I brought a lot of this stuff from our homes," Yamamoto answers after he checks the monitor display. "None of us can resist lighthearted competition or team building exercises, and this room is weirdly perfect technologically, so its like it's meant to be."

Furuya leans forward, "I say it's well worth it for all of us to get together at least once a week to play."

Goro focuses on once a week, and though his smile is polite and firmly in place, he turns to Sakamoto with hard eyes. He may have to reconsider his idea that Sakamoto does not lie.

"I can handle the stairs once a week," Sakamoto quickly explains. "Plus, I kinda bring it on myself, too, since I go up to the roof from time to time anyway."

He lies until pressed. Goro hums.

"Anyway! Who's gonna sit out?" Sakamoto looks away from Goro in an attempt to change the subject.

There are two guys that immediately offer to sit out. Mihashi has his hand raised slightly, and another man who also has his hand raised, Makishima, glowers at him.

"I'm clearly busy," Makishima says, sounding bored in monotone. He holds up a notebook for evidence.

Hinata takes the opportunity to shove a controller in Makishima's hand, causing the notebook to fall. Hinata grins sheepishly, "You sat out last time, you have to play." Hinata levels him with a wide and unfaltering gaze.

Makishima rolls his eyes and accepts the controller. "Fine."

Mihashi gives a relieved sigh and holds the controller out to Goro. "Top four get the big screen, but you're a guest, so you'll take the first spot."

Goro accepts and sits next to Sakamoto who gestures to sit in the middle of the couch by him. "It'll be you, me, Aomine, and Hinata." Sakamoto explains. Aomine sits down on the other side of Goro and Hinata spreads out on the ground in front of them without a word.

Sakamoto leans towards him, "Have you played before?" His voice is low, grating over the words as if to create intimacy between them.

"Once or twice," Goro lies. "I suppose you're skilled, given your ranking?"

"I'm number one," Ryuji preens, "I think I know better than anyone here how to be the fastest."

Goro bites his tongue on an inappropriate remark.

"Sometimes speed isn't everything," Aomine leans over Goro, smirking at Sakamoto.

Goro straightens his posture to create distance between him and Aomine and Aomine catches his eye as he settles back into his side of the couch. Hinata gets online play ready and everyone picks their character and vehicle.

Mihashi comes up to the back of the couch and offers him tips and basic controls in a hushed voice. Goro nods, listening intently, trying to ensure that he has some semblance of an idea how to play the game.

The game starts and Goro instantly tenses, stressed. The controls feel wild and he overcorrects himself several times, running into walls and falling off the map. He’s able to maintain a solid middle standing through the first round and his body sags with relief after he crosses the finish line for the last time. He needs to maintain better vehicular control, he thinks, the turns are causing him the most amount of strife right now and-

“You gotta drift more,” Sakamoto suggests, off hand. Goro looks at him but says nothing. He understands the concept of drifting while driving, but he doesn’t know how that would translate to this video game.

Mihashi leans in slowly and points to a button at the top of the controller, “This will help you make turns faster.”

Ah, so it is a game mechanic. He looks the controller over carefully, noting that the button is mirrored on either side and assuming that they correspond with the direction the character would drift. The next round starts and he hits the button before they take off, noting how his character hops in place.

He does better after that, his little skeleton character giving thumbs up to the camera as he climbs the ranks. There’s one round where he nearly comes in first place, tense and curled as he is over the controller. He is just about to celebrate when a red shell catches him from behind and Ryuji’s Bowser Jr. crosses the finish line just ahead of him.

“Oh I nearly-!” Goro bites the words back, angry in an instant.

“That was really close, dude,” Sakamoto says choking on his own laughter.

“I don’t want to hear it. I can’t believe you, using a red shell on me.” Goro glares at him.

“What am I supposed to do, not try and win?” Ryuji’s smile could split his face. Goro opens his mouth to retort but thinks better of it, turning his attention back to the screen.

He can beat Ryuji easily. He has the basics of the game mechanics down and now he knows what he needs to do to win. Goro was going to wipe that sunshine smile off of Ryuji’s face with little issue.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Aomine says lowly next to him and selects the Rainbow Road course.

Everyone in the group groans except for Aomine and Hinata, who high-five. “This one hardly has any edges, so you gotta be careful about falling.” Mihashi explains behind him.

Ryuji nudges Goro’s leg with his own, “Good luck to you!”

Goro feels his face warm, “I won’t need luck to win against you.”

“Boy do I not wanna be between you and a red shell.” Ryuji shakes his head. Goro can feel the movement next to him more than see it, focused as he is on the large screen and his small skeleton man.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to pay for earlier.” Goro is able to maintain his place right behind Ryuji for the duration of the first track, finally overtaking him with a red shell with a sweet vengeance. Goro moves with his controller, slightly leaning into the turns and focused wholly on the game. He's almost made it to the finish line, the bright golden 1st in the corner a shining beacon.

Goro can see the finish line come into view at about the same time he gets hit with a blue shell. Dry Bones gets comically blown up and flipped over and Goro, in a fit of rage, stands up and shrieks. Everyone, led by Ryuji, passes him, leaving him ninth to cross the finish line.

He sits heavily and slumps into the couch cushions. "I had it. I had it," he mumbles watching the rankings flash on screen, "and then I lost it." Goro is more disappointed than is warranted for a friendly competition and stakeless video game.

"Mario Kart destroys friendships," Ryuji shrugs beside him.

He is too frustrated at so close a lost victory that he throws his controller down in Ryuji's lap. "I'm done. I can't play this game anymore. I've been defeated most terribly, my ego can't take much more of this." He knows how petty it is to scowl over a lost game but his frustration is consuming and visceral.

Mihashi moves from the back of the couch to sit next to Hinata and takes over Goro's place. Aomine leaves to sit elsewhere and there is a general shift with the newly opened space.

Play resumes and the anger at his loss slowly leaves Goro with only tired resignation. He blinks, zoning in and out of game play, no longer paying attention to who is placing where or which characters belong to who. The couch is comfortable under him and he relaxes more into it. He can feel Ryuji next to him, warm against his side and barely moving with the game. He stifles a yawn.

He's jolted into more awareness when Ryuji moves to sit on the floor in front of him and he gives him an inquisitive look.

"If you're tired, feel free to lay down. It's been a long day for you," Ryuji says with little fanfare.

Goro opens his mouth to argue but Ryuji is quick to interrupt him. "I'm already on the ground. Everyone's got somewhere to sit, just take a load off for a bit, we shouldn't be playing for too much longer."

Goro looks around and finds that everyone is comfortable where they're at, talking lowly amongst each other or focused intently on the game. There's an argument on his tongue but stretching his legs out on the couch cushions feels too nice. The ache that sits in his joints after particularly long diner shifts is soothed as he lays down.

There might be eyes on him, but he only really notices Ryuji watching him. When Goro settles, Ryuji turns back to the game. He can see Ryuji duck his head, suddenly aware that everyone had been waiting for him to select a track, but he's quick to confirm the next race and Goro closes his eyes.

They turn down the volume on the main screen and it's more quiet in the room. There are still the errant, disgruntled sounds from poor losers and the bright music from the video game low in the background. He hears Ryuji win several more times and then.

Ryuji is prodding at his arm, his voice clicking around the harsh consonants of Goro's name. Goro takes a sharp inhale, recognizes the couch and Ryuji's careful voice and the room devoid of any of Ryuji's dorm mates.

He fell asleep, Goro thinks sluggishly. How had he fallen asleep, in this new place with new people and no visible exits? "I suppose I will take my leave," his voice is thick and grates over polite intention. He feels jelly limbed and slow, not quite awake but trying to step through molasses.

"I'll walk you down," Ryuji tells him and leads him down the stairs. Goro yawns, can't stop yawning, tears up with the force of it. The rest of the dorm is empty as they move through it and Goro wonders, sleep addled, if the other guys gave them this space on purpose. Ryuji keeps a careful eye on him and Goro feels too hot.

"Want me to walk you home?" He asks Goro once they reach the front door. He scratches at the back of his head and Goro can see how he avoids putting pressure on his bad leg.

"No need to overexert your leg, I'll make it back just fine." Goro swallows another yawn.

"Alright. Uh. I'd say text me or call me, but..." Ryuji is awkward around his concern, lets his words trail off.

"I think the landlord might throw a fit if I tried to use the phone so late in the evening." Ryuji does not look wholly assuaged but his immediate discomfort is evidently soothed. "I promise I'll make it home. I have handled worse."

Ryuji nods, struggles for words, "Thanks for coming over. I hope you had a good time."

"I did," Goro answers immediately. Because he did, even though something in the back of his mind tells him he's not supposed to. "Thank you for inviting me, it was a nice change of pace, actually."

"Yeah, it was. I'm glad." Ryuji's smile is too bright for the late hour. Goro's face is too warm for how tired he is. He yawns huge again. Ryuji pushes him lightly towards the door, still smiling, "Go home before you fall asleep standing up."

Goro waves him off lazily, down the front steps and starting down the block. He doesn't look back, doesn't know what he wants to see, doesn't want to confirm that Ryuji watches him leave for as long as he's able.

The walk home isn't long, even for the time of night. The last of the spring chill has made way for summer heat and Goro counts his steps back to his apartment so he doesn't have to think about when he stopped thinking of Ryuji as Sakamoto.

**Author's Note:**

> [come hang out w me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/snarky_broad)


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